


Dark Songs

by chaemera



Series: Victorian Eldritch [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Gen, Horror, Occult, Psychological Horror, Vampires, Victorian, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 27,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaemera/pseuds/chaemera
Summary: The further adventures of a miss Ann Eglantine, former student of veterinary medicine at Neritic University, now a vampire just trying to figure out how to fit into her new life as best she can.





	1. Dark Waters

She dreamed, though not like other people.

It was as though she floated far, far beneath the surface of some vast, oily sea, the water thick and dark and warm around her. No light penetrated to these depths, but sound, touch, scent… those traveled freely.

It had been like this every time she slept, since she’d become a vampire.

She hadn’t been a vampire long, perhaps a few months, but she was started to get used to it. Some parts were easier than others; adjusting her schedule was comparatively simple, adapting her diet… less so.

And then there were the dreams.

Every morning as the sun rose, she was plunged into this dark ocean. At first she wasn’t even sure it was an actual dream, given how aware she felt throughout it all. She still wasn’t quite sure, really.

And she wasn’t alone in this ocean.

As she drifted, silent and still, she heard them. Deep, moaning calls far in the distance, almost more a pressure against her than a true sound. Quieter, sharper clicks and shrieks and whispers. Early on, she had made sounds herself, but she quickly learned that whatever else was in this ocean could hear her just as well.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to meet her ‘neighbors’ in this strange place, so she kept herself quiet.

Time passed while she was here, though not like while she was awake. Some days, she was barely aware of entering the dark waters. Others, she listened to their strange songs for what felt like forever.

A wail caught her attention, sharp and piercing and close. Some part of her clenched in reaction, she knew that sound. Pain and loss and terror, like an infant crying in the dark. Someone had just fallen into this place, and was aware for the first time. A fledgling.

_…perhaps she could…_

Limbs that always felt slightly wrong moved, propelling her through the darkness towards the sound. She stayed quiet for now, listening. The cavernous, deep sounds in the distance had not changed, whatever made them unaware or uncaring of the newborn. She could taste it in the water now, the sharp heat of blood and fear.

She crooned softly into the darkness, urging calm.

A shrill scream answered her, a hard thrashing in the waters. Not just an infant but wounded.

Then another was there. Vast, a silent presence that she could only detect because of the way the water pushed her away from its motions, setting her tumbling. She let herself drift, unwilling to possibly draw this thing’s attention further.

She heard another shriek, then a heavy thump like some massive, soft weight slamming to earth.

Then silence.

She drifted again, unnerved, disturbed by the implications, hoping fervently that she was wrong.

A growl made the water shake against her, deep and powerful and echoing, and that looming presence drifted away. If it had noticed her at all, it had either lost track of her or didn’t care that she remained.

She hoped she would wake soon.


	2. Discussion

Sitting in her bed, Ann Eglantine considered her options.

The sun hadn’t been down for long, the city bells just chiming the fifth hour on this late-November evening. The city would be bustling, even with the winter chill. And it was a cold one today; she knew that if she still breathed properly it would be frosting even here in her bedroom. At least she didn’t need to spend for coal these days…

_Right my girl, enough woolgathering._

As she made ready to venture out, she considered. She definitely needed some sort of professional opinion on this matter, though dashed if she knew where she’d get one. She’d met quite the collection of interesting characters since that fateful night when a vampire had attacked her, but… Well. The one that probably knew the most she wasn’t sure she wanted to bother with. Certainly not as her first choice.

His cook, on the other hand, always seemed to know just what was needed. She’d start there.

Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she stepped out onto the slushy cobbles to join the throngs of humanity jostling along under fitful snowfall.

* * *

“Well it seems to me,” the cheerful little lady fussing with the stove chirped over her shoulder, “that you’ve definitely got yourself a right conundrum my dear.” Missus Walthersome had been one of the first friends Ann had made after her abrupt transition from the mundane world to her current situation, and remained a steadfast and very welcome point of stability to return to. The old cook was shortish, roundish, and nearly had more smile-lines than face, especially when she grinned. Though now her expression was more thoughtful, lips pursed as she settled some greying brown hair back behind her ear and turned to regard Ann. “Sounds like you’ve got the right of it with these dreams of yours being just how the cock crows these days, but strike me for a Sinner if I’d care to guess what it all means. No indeed, you’ll be needing a diviner of some sort, and I know just the lad.”

She might not be able to take tea anymore, but she thanked every Saint for putting missus Walthersome in her life.

“Now, this lad’s a touch peculiar, god love him, but you’ll get along just fine don’t you fret. You’ll be needing a few things for when you meet him,” and the cook bustled over to a bit of counterspace to jot down a quick list with a pencil, chattering along as she did. “You’ve been seeing to your meals properly, have you? You’ve not lived with us for the past month and you know I do worry so. Do be a dear and say hello to mister Scharfen for me next you’re ‘round his way? It’s been downright dull without you around for conversation, that lout in the library’s up to his eyebrows in some project or other again, doubt he even heard you come in…”

At length, Ann accepted not only the list of needed supplies but a carefully wrapped and basketed selection of edibles that agreed with her dietary restrictions, as well as a downright motherly adjustment of her hair and shawl before she was allowed to step back out into the night, “Do come by again soon dearie, you’re always a delight to have a chat with.”

* * *

As it turned out, many of the items on the list she’d been provided were rather easy to come by, though… a decidedly odd combination. Some she could understand, or at least speculate as to the uses of: a few feathers from her pillow, a few strands of her hair. But where in blazes was she to find a silver penny? The city had shifted to using tin decades ago…

In the end it took a somewhat haphazard shopping expedition over the course of several nights to accumulate everything necessary, but she finally found herself in front of a door that she certainly wouldn’t have guessed housed any sort of seer, visionary, or the like. The apartment building was serviceable in a sort of dingy way, clearly maintained more with an eye to function than looks. Mild soot stains above the lights, a replaced stair of a drastically different color of wood than the rest, but it kept the chill out, and didn’t creak horrifically in the wind.

Her knock was answered by the most singularly disheveled individual she had ever laid eyes on, blinking tiredly through an unkempt fringe of hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it was brown or blonde, and she was immediately nipped by contrition, “Oh dear, I do apologize if I’ve woken you sir!”

“Nah, nah, ‘sallright,” the man mumbled and stepped back from the door, and for a moment she wondered if he were drunk. But no, she couldn’t smell any spirits even with her enhanced senses. He seemed to have forgotten she was there, but he’d left the door open, so she stepped inside and shut it carefully before following him into the sitting room. It rather followed the pattern of the building, being a bit shabby, a bit messy, but serviceable enough. Though really someone should hire the poor man a housekeeper, she was fairly certain that pile of dishes she spotted through a doorway was harboring civilization…

“Y’r wanting summat?” His words broke back into her attention as he flopped into a chair like his spine had suddenly turned to wool, voice a bit smeary but not actually slurred. Maybe he was just tired. He certainly looked like he should be in bed, the poor fellow.

“I was pointed your way by an acquaintance, sir. I’ve been having some odd, recurring dreams lately, and she seemed to think you could help me better understand them.” She was answered with an unsurprised-looking grimace and a lift of the eyebrows, which she took as an invitation to continue. “I feel that I should preface all of this by letting you know that I’m a vampire.”

Well that certainly made him sit up, rather like he’d been jabbed by a pin. A moment of staring with wide, bloodshot eyes, and then he just rubbed his face with one hand like he was trying to work feeling back into it. “Agch, whatever. S’long’s you’re not after any bits ‘druther keep attached, fine. You bring the stuff?”

She allowed that she had, and handed over the basket she’d been carrying under one arm. For all his apparent fatigue and bleariness, the man’s hands were precise as he extracted each item in turn, though the way he casually swept a corner of table clear of books to set them on had her wincing.

“Right, seems like ‘sall here. Now,” and when she looked back to his eyes she found she couldn’t look away. Bloodshot, a bit haggard, but a piercing, clear blue that she hadn’t noticed under the shadows before. Like the spring sky at noon. “Tell me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Later, after she’d finished recounting every detail of her dreams, he looked away, and she fell back in her chair as though some great beast had finally released its grip on her throat. What had just happened? She felt like she’d just bolted up a steep hill as fast as she could, and only the fact that she didn’t need to breathe anymore was keeping her from panting.

“Not dreams,” the soft words tugged her attention back to the scrawny man, and he swept his hair back from his face with a hand, looking even more tired than before somehow. “Not dreams,” he repeated with a slow shake of his head. “At least, not entirely. What you saw,” and his words were clear, which made her shiver for some reason she couldn’t quite lay a finger on, “was real. But not here, in this world. Someplace else.”

She wasn’t sure that was reassuring. Actually no, she was sure it really wasn’t.

“Can’t tell you much,” and she could tell he was starting to fade, his voice getting quieter, his words less precise. “Be careful. Watch. Not my place. Your place.”

He fell silent, and after several moments she was certain he’d fallen asleep entirely, right there in his chair. The poor thing must be exhausted.

It felt passing strange to do, but she decided after a bit to carry the man to his bed instead of just leaving him as he was. He was just as light as his appearance suggested, but she still was thankful for her enhanced strength as she got him settled on the mattress before taking her leave.

She had a lot to think about.


	3. Dive

_Papa, I am going to attempt something extremely foolish._

She regarded the ink dying on the page for a moment, then decided that yes, that was the proper way to begin this note. It certainly set the tone well enough.

_While I know that telling you this will change little, I beg you not to worry overmuch. I do not believe myself to be in a position of immediate risk, and am merely writing this letter as a precaution._

A bit of blatant lying there, but one does what one must.

_If all goes well, I will endeavor to meet you outside our family's home this following evening. Under no circumstances should you attempt to find me before then, for your own safety. This is very closely related to why I was required to withdraw from the university, and I wish to be certain of the outcome before I inadvertently drag you and mama into something unbecoming._

_Always yours,_

_Ann_

There. She quickly folded the letter and stepped out to tuck it into the postbox before she had a chance to second-guess herself, heedless of possibly still-drying ink. She knew that if she paused to consider this she would probably end up talking herself out of it. She'd waited nearly until dawn to write her note as it was.

No time left, she could feel that pressure at the back of her mind that spoke of the impending sunrise. At least she knew her nervousness would not be able to keep her from sleep...

* * *

Darkness. She could not draw a steadying breath, not here. Nothing for it but to just... do what came naturally.

As strange as that word felt to apply to this.

Warm fluid as thick as oil moved through her in ways she didn't really want to spend time contemplating, and she called into the dark, for once seeking an answer.

For several long moments, she was surrounded only by the background sounds of the inky sea. Creaks and groans like ancient timbers the size of entire buildings. A hissing sizzle like thick bacon frying. Clicks like tiny beads falling from some extraordinary height onto glass.

Then she was shaken by a clarion warble, acknowledging her call. She tasted surprise in the sound, and curiosity.

Her own call had been but a feeble whimper in comparison. Just what had she stirred?

Before her nerve could fail further, she responded as firmly as she could. A cry of acknowledgement, respect. She couldn't keep the quaver of fear from her voice, but hardly expected to really. Every sense she possessed ached into the void, seeking anything, anything at all. She felt horrifically exposed; her silence and stillness had always been her defenses here.

Her bones shook with a deep, cavernous groan, entwined with an almost lilting whistle. Whatever this thing was, it was praising her. Encouraging her.

Warning her.

She fled deep into the darkness, clamped silent and terrified of what she may have just done.

But now she knew for certain, she was truly not alone here.

She wasn't sure at all if she wanted to know any more.


	4. Consultation

“You had me frightfully worried, young lady.”

“I know, papa. Truth be told, I’m still rather out of sorts over the whole affair myself.”

The pair of them were sitting in her father’s study over tea. While she couldn’t actually partake anymore, wrapping her fingers around her mug and feeling the familiar warmth was a great comfort to her at the moment. The fact that it was the chunky, horrible mess of clay that she’d made back when she was still in primary school was an added bonus; it always warmed her heart a little when she was reminded her parents kept it.

Even if it did look positively awful. Honestly, what were they thinking?

Her father was a solid man who, while not nearly as robust as he had been in his youth, had aged well. As he put it, he’d simply settled a bit. Hair that had once been a brilliant copper had faded to a more sedate light brown, and his eyes had started to disappoint him more and more, but these were at worst minor inconveniences to Doctor of Geological Sciences Reginald Eglantine.

“I must confess, you’ve ventured rather far afield from my usual territory,” her father grumbled. He’d never taken being unable to answer questions from his children well, regarding it as a failure in his role as a parent. “Lord knows we never had much truck with any of these sorts of things before now.” But then he paused, frowning, “Actually…”

Settling his teacup on the table, he hoisted himself up to call through the door further into the house, “Elizabeth? Darling, see if you can rummage out your old notebook from school, would you? The one I teased you about so much.” A wordless noise of agreement echoed back, and her father nodded to her with satisfaction. “Your mother had something of a hobby involving witchcraft when she was younger, I forget if we ever told you.”

“I vaguely recall. Rather like I had dreams of being a dressage rider,” Ann nodded, and a moment later her mother came bustling in with a small leather-bound journal in her hands, smelling strongly of dust and cedar. A tall lady with marvelous black hair (one could even say statuesque if they wanted to be swatted for it), Elizabeth Eglantine nee Berenson had been a guiding light in Ann’s early life. Or, when she was feeling less charitable, an unstoppable force that she was sometimes dragged along in the wake of.

“Found it! Now, I wouldn’t take much of this to heart dear one,” she smiled as she passed it to Ann. “Full half of it is probably just things I came up with to make my own mother fuss, and the other half just bits and bobs from the library. But you’ve rather fallen in the deep end from what you’ve told us,” and she and her husband shared that worried-parents look, “and better to have some than none. What about that gentleman that took you in, after the incident? You never did more than mention him.”

With an effort of will Ann managed to refrain from making a face, “Marbas is… a resource I am considering, mama. He’s not the easiest of people to work with. Papa knows the sort,” and she tried to divert the subject a little. “Those graduate students of yours that spot some Grand Idea and go tearing off like they’re fit to tear down half the city, remember?”

“Light above, don’t remind me,” groaned her father as he slumped back into his chair, hands coming up to his face. “I finally managed to get that young idiot McCrery to finalize his presentations and get his last few credits dealt with. Another year of keeping up with him might have killed me!”

She managed to keep the talk on lighter, more amusing subjects for the remainder of the visit, finally stepping back out onto the street not terribly long after the tenth bell with a firm injunction from both her parents to stay more in touch.

She wanted to, she really did, but things were getting even stranger than before these days.

Later, back in her own home and paging through her mother’s journal, Ann was rapidly reaching the conclusion that her mother’s assessment of it had been accurate. Oh there were some fascinating bits here and there, like which way to lay a salt line around a house depending on what you were trying to ward off, or some of the nicer “bogles” one might want to attract to their home. But precious little about vampires beyond a few tidbits of warding lore that struck her more as superstition than anything one would one to stake their safety on. Bother.

But here was something that might prove fruitful: ways to recognize a working witch’s establishment. While witchcraft wasn’t in any way illegal in the city, it did have something of an unseemly reputation. Largely owing to the number of unfaithful spouses hexed with embarrassing lice, in Ann’s own opinion, but nobody wanted to make their business or home next door to a witch just on general principle.

It was far too late for her to go knocking on doors just because she spotted dried fennel tucked into the frame, but she made a note to see what she could find early the next evening. In some ways her new schedule simply was dratted inconvenient.

However, she was fairly certain mister Scharfen’s butchery was still open, and after all the recent goings-on she could use a bit of a treat.


	5. An Evening Outing

Stepping into the butcher shop was always a mixed experience for Ann. The scents of meat, blood and organ would usually be too faint for a human to consciously notice them, but to her vampiric senses they were nearly overpowering. And to her vampiric sensibilities, it was rather like walking into a room heaped with cookies still cooling from the oven, a heady rush and an excited burble that her conscious mind still flinched at somewhat. She’d hardly been a squeamish girl before, but the raw predatory hunger of her new condition took her aback quite often.

The butcher himself, on the other hand, simply brought a smile to her face that was entirely genuine. Mister Scharfen was one of those huge, beastly men that would cause most sensible folk to immediately keep their distance, but she had quickly learned upon making his acquaintance that beneath the heavy brows and hands like boulders was the most caring and compassionate fellow that she had ever met, her own father included. He knew full well of her condition, and even so never even hesitated as he wrapped her up in a bearhug of greeting, her face buried in his shirtfront and her fingers hooked into his apron as she returned it just as fiercely. It may not have been a “proper” greeting, but it was much needed and appreciated.

“Late for you, is it not?” the question rumbled into her very bones, the accent of the Northern Territories so thick she could nearly taste it as he released his embrace and stepped back with his hands on her shoulders, giving her the same searching look as her mother would when trying to determine if she’d caught the local fever.

“Pray do not worry sir, I was merely performing some research earlier tonight. I will be safely abed soon enough,” she smiled up at him, giving one of his hands a reassuring pat, which made him chuckle softly and nod.

“Have treat, special,” and she perked up instinctively. “Lamb, fresh. Walk in this morning, strong, healthy,” and he turned towards the back room of the shop with a gesture for her to tag along. She hardly needed urging, even as part of her twitched as usual. She was slowly growing accustomed to a diet consisting primarily of organs, but the sheer animal eagerness that came along with the prospect of raw, fresh food continued to disturb her somewhat. These days she largely just shuffled her offended sensibilities to the side and let instinct take its course; it was simpler than fussing and fretting and working herself into trying to gag while she ate.

Luckily, the lamb was already prepared; she wasn’t sure she’d be able to feast on a still-living creature outside of the direst of situations. Mister Scharfen had already portioned out the choicest bits for her, and she spent a few moments chatting with his wife as he packaged them up. The pair of them ran the shop on off-shifts; she tended the counter during the day, while he watched during the night, closing up during the early evening for dinner and their own business. Misses Scharfen herself was on par with her husband, being tall and broad and looking as though she used to carry sheep over her shoulders back home. And like her husband, she was the most irrepressible mother-hen in the world, fussing over how Ann looked too thin, asking if she’d been getting out often enough, and tutting over the news that Ann’s sleep had been less than restful as of late.

“No good. If keeping the sleep troubles, I take you good friend mine. She fix you charm, keep dreams away,” and the lady Scharfen nodded with all the firmness of a mountain range, apparently taking Ann’s surprised blink for hesitation. “Heinrich have terrible trouble, when first come here,” and she beamed possessively towards the broad back of her husband, who responded such a petulantly sour face that Ann couldn’t help but giggle. “ _Oma_ Mahler, good neighbor, very helpful,” and Misses Scharfen nodded again, the matter apparently settled.

“Thank you, ma’am. Actually, could you tell me how I would reach her? I hardly need trouble you for such things when you already give me so much.”

In the end, she was rescued from the Scharfens’ endearing clutches only by the toll of the fifth bell, earning her stern words about staying out far too late and a firm shooing which she endeavored not to giggle too loudly at. Settling her basket under her arm, she turned up the hood of her cloak as she made for home, the snow having picked up rather firmly this morning. Luckily, it wasn’t all that windy-

_Something low in her mind hissed softly._

Without really knowing why, she stepped into an alleyway that she was passing, her back settling against the bricks deep in the shadows cast by a nearby streetlight. She’d learned, since her transformation, that her instincts were a powerful force all their own, sometimes responding to cues that her conscious mind had yet to notice. She didn’t always understand what she was perceiving, but it had saved her life on at least one occasion.

For several minutes, the only movement was falling snow. She had no breath to fog in the cold, and she viciously clamped down on the urge to fidget. She still had plenty of time until dawn, wait, wait…

Footsteps on the pavement, and someone paused at the mouth of her alley. She couldn’t see much: a man cast in profile by the streetlight, mostly presented as a hat with a heavy scarf beneath. He didn’t appear to see her, and after a moment blew out a breath as though frustrated and moved on.

It was several more minutes before she peeled her back from the wall and resumed her walk home, rather more subdued. What in the world…?


	6. Distraction

Early the next evening, she was puttering about some housework when the bell rang for the front door. Fighting her hair back under her kerchief (again!) she found what could only be described as a Stalwart Young Constable standing on her stoop with her mail in his hands. Honestly, he looked rather like he'd just stepped out of the Watch recruitment posters, dashing smile, chiseled jaw and all. The nerve. She suddenly felt incredibly frumpy, with dust on her sleeves, a cleaning cloth at her waist, and her hair going every which way.

"Evening miss. Pardon the intrusion, but I've been sent to check up on you."

Her being a vampire put her in a somewhat peculiar legal situation, as it had turned out. Such creatures were generally not welcomed in human settlements for obvious reasons, and more to the point the only sorts that this particular city had ever dealt with had been for all accounts exceptionally feral specimens. The fact that she was not only coherent but fully intending to remain constrained by the city's law brought the local court to the decision that she could remain a nominal citizen (she was still marked as 'deceased' in the city's register) with a few caveats. The most immediately notable being a parole officer.

"Of course Constable, do come in. Would you like tea?"

Following her in and removing his cap, the Constable allowed that he could go for a cup, thank you miss. She didn't have a sitting room as such, but she had set up her kitchen to be something of a receiving nook, since she didn't really cook for herself these days. As the kettle was heating and she was sorting through the few letters he'd brought in, she started in on the past week's events, such as they were.

"I'm afraid your report's set to be rather dull, sir. I won't bore you with the details of my housekeeping or meals, and between the stipend from my parents and my consultant's fee from the Watch, my finances seem rather in order."

"In our line of work miss, dull is much preferable to panic," he smiled, and she was briefly both delighted and infuriated at the fact that her new biology kept her reaction to the expression in check. He must have to chase admirers away with his truncheon, that dimple was simply unfair in conjunction with his cheekbones. But at least she was able to pour his tea with steady hands.

"I can certainly appreciate that, sir. Believe me when I say that the sort of 'excitement' that tends to turn up in this regard is not what I would pursue given the option." She considered a moment as she settled the teapot on the table and herself on a stool. "Honestly sir, the only thing of any note in the past week is rather out in the territory of 'fanciful business.' I've been having some odd dreams lately, and they seem somehow tied to my condition. Beyond that, however, I'm afraid I have no notion of if it actually means anything."

He did the sympathetic frown rather well, considering his tea and swirling it lightly in its cup. "Indeed miss. I'll put it in my report of course, but that will probably be the end of it unless you give us reason to think otherwise," and he lifted his eyebrows inquiringly at her over the rim of his teacup. He really did have lovely blue eyes.

Dammit woman, get ahold of yourself. Why in the world did they have to send the pretty one? The Inspector must think himself hilarious.

_He smells delicious. Healthy and strong._

Right, that's enough of that!

"I will be certain to keep your superiors appraised if anything changes, sir. Was there anything else I could do for you while you're here?"

"Thank you miss, but no. The tea was lovely," and he gave her a smile that would have had her heart clenched in her throat if things still worked like that. "I really should be getting back to my rounds, however. A good evening to you."

Once the door was firmly shut behind him, she spent a moment banging her forehead gently against it. Fate was laughing at her, she was certain of it.


	7. Diversion

Returning to the kitchen, Ann made straight for the mail which she'd set down for her little 'interview.' While most of her post these days was rather dull, being either bills or those astonishingly rude delivered advertisements which were becoming increasingly common, she'd spotted one letter in the meager pile that she was actually happy to see.

The letter was plain enough, the paper cheap and the ink a bit runny, and the author had the most barbaric handwriting, with a marked tendency to long, slashing crosses on his t's. She'd known who it was from even without reading the return address, with that handwriting.

_Miss Eglantine,_

_Today I write in the hopes that (several words had been started and scribbled out again)_

_Sorry. I've never been very good at this._

_I just wished to inform you that my time of public service is coming to an end and I am being transferred to the jurisdiction of the Crown Court. As such I hope that we will have the opportunity to spend some time together in the near future. Your letters these past months have helped immensely in many ways, and if nothing else I wished to thank you in person._

_If you wish to reply, I am told your letters will be able to reach me if addressed to the Cavanagh Street Precinct. I will be arriving there on the fifth of December barring difficulties._

_Always in gratitude,_

_Simon Fletcher_

So, he'd be due in the city in the next day or so, delightful. She had met Mister Fletcher under truly disastrous circumstances, including and not limited to the accidental homicide of his beloved, several deaths by poison, and the discovery that he was in fact a werewolf. Really, it was a wonder the poor lad had recovered as well as he had.

The local magistrate overseeing the ruckus had ruled that, though it were a crime of passion and exacerbated by unforeseen factors, several men had still been killed and restitution must be made. Luckily for Mister Fletcher, his anguish and repentance had hardly needed to be argued. Having been present during the trial, Ann had half expected the young man to offer to open his wrists right there on the courtroom floor. As such, the judge had ruled that Mister Fletcher was merely bound to community service until such time as the Court and the authorities of his town deemed him fit to reenter society.

The fact that the man being sentenced was a werewolf probably encouraged a degree of, if not lenience, expediency. Such creatures are so excessively rare that one had literally not been sighted in this region for nigh on a century, and as such myth and folklore had blown things quite out of proportion over time.

But she and the young Mister Fletcher had kept in touch through mail out of an odd sort of camaraderie. Both of them had been rather dragged into the supernatural world without so much as a by your leave, and to be honest she felt more than a bit protective of him. Her transition had been comparatively gentle, for all that she had, in effect, died horrifically as part of it.

She was rather glad she didn't remember that part.

Getting herself settled in her office, she set to write a reply.

_Mister Fletcher,_

_I am delighted to hear that not only is your sentence reaching its end, but that you shall be reading this within my own home city. Do say hello to Inspector Raeburn for me, if he is there when you read this. Please do feel free to call on me any time after sundown, the Constables will be able to give you my address. It being late in the year, the hour should be early enough for me to show you some of the city before supper, if you like._

She paused then, tapping the end of her pen to her lips in thought before bending back to her writing.

_I have not informed my associate whom you met during the case that you will be arriving, and will leave that entirely to your discretion._

_Awaiting your arrival,_

_Ann Eglantine_

There, that should do nicely. She didn't want to fluster the boy or give him the impression that things were going poorly, since they clearly weren't. And belaboring the reasons that she had decided to distance herself from one 'occult investigator' would at best make her sound like a fussy gossip.

Perhaps she could introduce him to Missus Walthersome, though...


	8. Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello naughty children it's EXPOSITION TIME.

Thinking about Mister Fletcher inevitably drew Ann's thoughts back to the case which had brought him into her acquaintance, and to the man she had spent the first month or so of her new life under the supervision of. She couldn't really call it "care," given his demeanor.

Going only by the rather cryptic pseudonym of "Marbas," at first blush he would have appeared to most as a quintessential gentleman, if not without his foibles. Tall, elegant of stature, precise of vocabulary, rather like any minor lordling well seated in the ranks of academia. But at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, there was a darkness to him. She'd seen the cold disregard for the needs of others, the simple lack of response to trauma, the calculating shift of his eyes just before any conversation would begin. She would by no means call him evil, or even sinister, but he was incredibly unsettling.

And then there was the matter of how he had helped shepherd her into her new life.

One night she had gathered up all of her courage and asked him to tell her about the events of that fateful night, knowing that he would answer the question in full, unfiltered honesty. Precisely the reason that she had not asked before then. She hadn't wanted the gory details, had actively avoided thinking about most of it. But it had eaten at her like a papercut snagging on every page of a book as one read, and finally she could not bear her ignorance any longer.

He had arrived on the scene of her attack mere moments after the Constables, having been tipped off by an acquaintance of his within the Special Watch. Apparently he had been hoping to acquire a fresh victim such as herself for quite some time, having various theories about vampirism that he wished to test. With his connections within the Watch, he was able to take custody of her corpse, bypassing normal procedure for such things entirely.

He had showed her the hidden basement in which she had awakened. She remembered the steel table with its restraints, but in her distress upon awakening she had failed to note other details. The tables supplied with all the tools one would expect within an operating theatre. The rings and chains set into the floor and ceiling like something out of some medieval torture chamber. The bathing tub with a locking metal grate over its top which had puzzled her until he had explained its purpose, and its pivotal role in her rather unique development.

Marbas had long theorized that the feral behavior of young vampires was due to simple hunger. Since the act of being transformed involved the victim having most of their viscera messily devoured, the initial "larval" stage of vampirism necessitated a time of rest, healing, and regeneration. Such things require fuel and energy, which a badly-ravaged body was ill-supplied with. Thus, the hunger. To test this, he had kept her completely immersed in cow's blood for over a week, effectively feeding her as she healed and allowing her body to focus solely on repair. There was no need to wake, no need to hunt. He had informed her that she hadn't even stirred when he topped off the tub every few hours, until she was fully healed and beginning to return to herself.

She supposed she should be grateful to him, as it was this procedure that had allowed her to retain her human mind relatively undamaged, and to reintegrate into society as smoothly as she had. But the method, the intent behind it all was... as singularly unsettling as the man himself. He had not done this out of any concern for her; she was merely a convenient test subject for his theories and studies. Any benefit on her part was purely a side-effect, to be carefully noted but outside the experiment's bounds. He hadn't even bothered to clothe her until she was on the very verge of consciousness.

She had spent most of the remainder of that night huddled in her room, in that state of mild, quiet hysterics where nothing seems real, and time passes without note. Though she could still make herself snicker a bit morbidly at his offer at the time to include her as a co-author when he presented his findings.

Though... with recent events, she drew up short, thinking. She had heard a fledgling in her dreams, she was sure of it. What happened to the poor wretch, she was not certain. Could she... could she perhaps find those poor souls torn into this life? Help them? Give them what they needed and thus prevent them becoming the scourge of nighttime stories around the fire?

Would she have the stomach for it?

...would she be allowed to?


	9. Around Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been a bit of a wait in coming, but writing "filler" is proving surprisingly hard for me. XD So much easier to write sharp, snappy tension sequences!
> 
> I hope it proves acceptable.

At long last, the knock on her door that she had been awaited sounded, and soon enough the young man on her stoop was returning her smile rather nervously, mauling his cap around in his hands rather more like some boy come to beg forgiveness for a broken window than a man of twenty three summers.

"Er, evening ma'am. I hope I'm not too la- early?"

"Mister Fletcher, you are in perfect time. Shall you step in for a bit, or would you prefer to see the city first?"

Given that the city had only recently shaken itself out from under a rather disgusting blizzard and that the temperature at this hour was enough to have many huddled beside their stoves, she fully expected him to choose the former. But instead he grinned like an urchin and stepped back with a rather grand gesture ruined only by the uncertain tone in his voice, "Our chariot awaits."

A carriage bearing the marks of the Watch was indeed drawn up before the walk, pulled by a pair of horses sturdy enough that she imagined they hauled cannon when the need was present, and driven by a Watchman so bundled that he resembled nothing so much as a pile of old laundry.

"Well! You certain know how to surprise a lady," she laughed to Simon's obvious relief, and so as not to keep the poor Watchman waiting any longer than necessary she quickly had herself wrapped in her evening cloak and up into the carriage, pausing only to tell the driver where they were headed. She had decided that a quick turn through the various districts of the city would help get Mister Fletcher somewhat oriented as she pointed out a few of the more useful or interesting points along their route.

"I shan't keep you out terribly long; even were the weather not so untoward I am certain my normal schedule is rather different from yours," and she took a moment to regard the young man that she had come to know, if not well, then well enough.

Simon Fletcher was powerfully built in the way that comes from hauling tree stumps out of fields and dragging recalcitrant livestock around against their wishes: broad shoulders, sturdy arms, and a solid waistline only made bulkier by his winter coat. For all he was still fairly young he wore a full beard well, being one of those men rather overly blessed in the subject of hair, but combined with the somewhat haunted look in his eyes it made him appear far older than his years. However, despite how he seemed prematurely aged and tired, he was not hard to look upon by any stretch. Not as refined or preened as the dandies that you could find practically everywhere in the city these days, but with an earthy, solid sort of character to him that made her want to just lean against him and let the world go on its way for a while.

He would probably die of mortification on the spot if she tried, sadly.

Their first stop of course was the Iron Bridge spanning the river between downtown and the old mercantile district. In the early history of the city, when the castle on the cliff was still a lord's bastion and not merely the local seat of government, the Iron Bridge was one of the primary means of defense to the south, being as it was the only useful crossing point of the river for miles. Even today it was part of the main thoroughfare of the city, being wide enough for two carriages on a side without jostling.

Naturally, as peaceful times became more the norm all manner of folk seeking to sell their wares to travelers accumulated on the far bank, and over time the merchant camps had settled and evolved into a bustling shipping and warehousing district. These days it was more of a general "business" neighborhood for the city as a whole, but you could always find vendor-carts and little shops with all manner of things scattered throughout if you knew where to look. Like this enterprising chap selling little cups of soup and tea on the southern bank of the Bridge. Really a rather ingenious little stove he had in his cart, and once again she silently bemoaned her inability to properly enjoy tea anymore; the cup he poured for their Watch driver was dark as pitch even after a heavy dollop of cream and would probably have stripped varnish without doctoring.

She pointed out the Castle to Simon as they resumed their excursion, "If you ever get lost, just look for the tower really. You can see it anywhere in the city." Though nothing to captivate one's imagination in terms of grand ornamentation or architecture, the Castle's primary keep stood head-and-shoulders above anything else within miles, largely owing to the commanding position it occupied upon the headland that had given birth to the Castle in the first place. Even at night it was a clear landmark, with lights kept burning at the apex as a waymark for river shipping.

About an hour later they paused beside one of the old Wardstones, brooding over a crossroad that had once in history been near the far edges of the city, but which now merely marked the division between the older, somewhat cramped streets of downtown and the more sprawling housing district to the west. The first Wardstone had been of course located up at the Castle itself, and as the city had developed around it more were added further and further afield. There hadn't been a demon attack within living memory, but even allowing for the hyperbole of legendry nobody sane wanted to risk an encounter with such creatures. There were some of course that argued that the Wardstones served no actual purpose these days, that it was all superstition and nonsense, but there was never any shortage of funds to keep them maintained, and never a dearth of votes to keep the municipal budget tuned in their favor. There were enough other threats to body and soul roaming this world, even the chance that one more could be kept at bay in this manner was more than enough.

Things like vampires, ghouls, even goblins could be defended against by human strength and human steel. Demons were something else entirely, if the histories were to be believed. Creatures of hungry shadow, rapacious and savage and cruel, they fed on suffering and terror instead of more earthly sustenance. A vampire would merely kill you. A demon would keep you alive, tortured and despairing.

Far better to set some funding aside for carefully manufactured and ensorcelled pillars of stone than to risk such things getting anywhere near.

"I won't attempt to burden you with a listing of every establishment in the city," she grinned at Simon as the carriage turned once more towards her home, "but I hope to have at least set the guideposts for you, and the Constables should be able to give you some good suggestions if there's anything in particular you develop a yearning for."

"I have no doubt," he chuckled, though looking a touch overwhelmed. His home town of Kent's Crossing was roughly the size of a single district here, small wonder a country lad like himself was feeling a bit inundated. "They haven't quite determined what's to be done with me," and his smile folded back into a grimace, "though I've been assured something _will_ be done. At the moment I'm staying at the precinct, they have a few rooms for such things it seems." Better than a cell certainly, but hardly the environment one would prefer by any stretch.

A hesitation, and then she reached out to lightly pat Simon's knee where he sat across the carriage from her, "If they want for ideas, you could suggest taking the spare room at my place." She bit down on a giggle at his moderately scandalized expression and hastened to add, "They keep me under a gentle surveillance, as I imagine they will wish to do with you as well, so this would keep all their birds in one basket don't you think?"

A bit of gentlemanly hemming and hawing ensued, ranging from a wish to not infringe upon her more than he already had, to suggestions it would ruin her good reputation, and finally ending up as they were pulling onto her street with "I will keep your gracious offer in mind, of course. But if the Inspector or his superiors have other ideas, I suppose that will be the end of it." Having reassured himself that the dire fate of sharing a dwelling unchaperoned would doubtlessly be avoided, he had relaxed a bit and ceased frowning so thunderously out into the night, instead giving her a rather sheepish though apparently heartfelt smile. Such a dear boy, even were his preferences turned in her direction she rather suspected she'd be more likely to pat his head and check to see if he had a proper sweater than anything romantic.

...though there was that one rather gallant Watchman...

Hm.


	10. Drifting

The sea was troubled.

A current that she had never tasted before wound through the darkness, brushing over her like cobwebs, breathing suggestions of smoke and anger and teeth. She twisted, seeking a source, or even a better idea of the direction of its origins. Her jaws parted, filtering the warm waters for information like a fisher dragging his net.

_...that way._

She moved.

She could hear something nearby now, a quiet clicking like someone tapping their nails against the walls of an unfamiliar house. She kept herself quiet, moved carefully so as not to disturb the waters.

She always felt somehow different, here in the dark sea. Like her shape was wrong somehow, in that curious certainly of dream logic. She didn't know how, but she knew it was different. Sometimes, that difference made itself more pronounced than others.

Such as now, as she was jerked forward by instinct towards where she suddenly knew the intruder to be.

Her attack was sudden, unexpected, her approach unnoticed, and her jaws clamped down on slightly-cool flesh as a startled screech made the waters churn. Her victim thrashed, but she had caught it ( _him_ , she somehow knew) from behind, her fangs and claws dug deep into flesh and bone, and she voiced a howl that was equal parts victory, threat, and demand.

Her foe tore himself free of her clutches and bolted away into the darkness, trailing pain and submission, keening surrender. She let him go.

Her territory was secure once more, though her jaws worked around the remembered taste of a rival.


	11. The Hunt Begins

She awoke with fangs bared.

Also to a somewhat mauled pillow. Bother.

She was in a fine temper as she got herself in order, not helped in the slightest by having to spit out a feather or two, or the fact that she could not seem to get her fangs to completely retract. The prospect of breakfast didn't even dent it, and she regarded the liver in her cold box with a faintly disgusted grimace.

Hard to be satisfied with cold, old flesh when her teeth itched for prey that was still moving.

Another half hour of restless, fruitless prowling about her home, and she finally just threw on a shawl and barged out into the night, kicking irritably at clumps of dirty snow on the cobbles. She felt rather like she'd discovered someone in her room going through her things, with a harshness to the edge all out of keeping with her normal temperament. This was _her_ territory dammit, and...

She drew up short, right there in the street.

_Stop and think a moment, girl. You're reacting, letting these damn instincts push you around._

Consciously, she drew in a long, slow breath. Let the cold air and the scents of the city, of humanity fill her. Let it back out just as slowly. Calm down and think.

The press of humanity around her was comforting, in its own way, even if it was distracting to her new senses and sensibilities. She detected no panic in the herd, not even any undue wariness. Men and women went about their early-evening business, and even the mild outbursts of disquiet were in their own way normal: a man on a horse yelling at a group of youths blocking his way simply because they could, a couple arguing about something or other, a drunk being thrown from an establishment with his trousers following moments later.

Safe and secure.

For now.

Perhaps she could keep it so for a while longer.

* * *

"Sergeant."

"Saints! You have _got_ to stop sneaking up on me like that, ma'am!"

It had become something of a running joke with this poor door-sergeant, but tonight his startled expression didn't even get a smile out of her, "I need to speak with the Inspector and your Special Watch representative if they're available."

Taking in her frown and her request, the sergeant simply nodded, his own expression turning a bit grim, "Right you are, ma'am. Head on back, the Inspector's in his office. I'll pass the word to the Specials."

Minutes later she was prowling the Inspector's office much as she had prowled about her own home, feeling as though she were physically unable to keep still for long. Her fingers itched, kept trying to crook into claws, and she knew her fangs were visible whenever she spoke, but she was too on-edge to deal with such trivialities. Too nervous about what she was trying to share, and what it meant. Inspector Raeburn sat behind his desk regarding her with a sort of perplexed wariness, and she blamed him not a jot for it. His precinct's Special Watch Officer, on the other hand, was the utter picture of calm readiness; a lady in every sense of the word, managing to appear elegant and poised even in the severe black uniform of the Watchers, and it was she who took the lead in the conversation, even as Ann was attempting to marshal her thoughts into a useful shape.

"You have something for us, Miss Eglantine?"

"Yes ma'am," and Ann shoved herself into the structure of politeness with a conscious effort. "Much of what I'm going to tell you will probably sound somewhat fanciful, but I have been led to believe that it is useful information nonetheless." Another moment, forcing herself to stop pacing and to lay her hands on the back of an empty chair to keep them still, and she nodded to the Watcher, "First, ever since I became a vampire, I've been having what can only be described as recurring dreams. It is completely unlike the state of sleep I experienced as a human," how odd it felt to say that, "and consistent to the point where I cannot help but think it is inherent to my condition. Adding to that," and her throat worked a moment with unease, "I have come to believe that I am not the only one that experiences this state. That is to say, I think that I share it with others of my kind."

Well that certainly got their attention.

" _Shared_ dreams, Miss Eglantine?" the Watcher pressed the point, eyes narrowed like a hunter that's caught sight of her prey, though her face remained composed and her hands resting relaxed on her thighs.

_This one is a good hunter, watch her._

"I believe so, ma'am. More to the point, there is... a form of communication within them. And because of this, I believe that there is an active vampire in the area." Inspector Raeburn muttered something excessively impolite that she and the Watcher deliberately failed to notice, and the Watcher nodded for Ann to continue. "I can't give you much in the way of specifics, I'm afraid. But I detected him, and it seemed rather like he was investigating a new place. I... informed him that this place was claimed. Rather forcefully." Her fingers tightened into the leather of the chair and her jaw clenched slightly in remembered ferocity, but she continued. "I do not believe he shall come here to the city after my warning, but I felt that you should be aware of his presence in the area."

"Indeed, Miss Eglantine," the Watcher responded, almost purred, and her tone brought an answering tingle down Ann's spine. No, stop that, you're not going out hunting, let them do their job. "If this source of information proves viable, I do believe that the Special Watch may have to make some adjustments to your classification," and the Watcher flowed to her feet with another nod to Ann. "Is there anything else you wish to add, Miss Eglantine?"

"...was there an attack near here recently, ma'am? About a fortnight ago?" The question popped out before she had a chance to think about it, but the startled widening of the Watcher's eyes gave her the answer.

"Why do you ask, Miss Eglantine?" Oh, she was good. A human probably wouldn't even have noticed.

"I heard the... the victim. The fledgling. In my dreams, I mean. Something happened to them, and I am not entirely certain what it was. I was hoping that knowing something about the circumstances might clarify matters, so that I could be of better use to the Watch."

She was laying it on a bit thick, but she wasn't even being dishonest really. If she could work out what the strange events of her dreams meant in this world...

"I see. Indeed miss; there was an attack, possibly by your wandering friend given the proximity. The victim was not discovered until they had risen and fled, and we have been attempting to locate them since. Though we are fairly certain they have gone to ground or been somehow dealt with by this point, as no fresh attacks have occurred since."

"Where did it happen, ma'am?"

"Kent's Crossing. I understand you are familiar with the town."


	12. Plans

"So, if I have everything straight, you believe that there is something ancient sleeping beneath my home town, and mean to investigate it."

"Indeed."

"By yourself."

"Well I hardly have sufficient evidence to go dragging anything resembling an official inquiry along."

She and Simon were sitting on a bench looking out over the river, the faint hiss of the streetlights underlain by the slap of the water against the stonework. Part of her fretted for his health; it was beastly late for him to be out and the night was bitterly cold, especially this close to the river. But he seemed comfortable enough in his thick coat and scarf. Presumably he'd had to spend plenty a night out in the cold back home on the farm as well.

"Perhaps not, but this seems incredibly dangerous miss."

Said the werewolf to the vampire. She fought back an only mildly-hysterical giggle.

"I have no illusions about the lion's jaws I may be sticking my head into, Simon. And I fully intend to approach the situation most cautiously. But this is something that needs to be investigated, and can you really think of anyone better qualified to do so?"

She had him there, though if his frown grew any deeper she feared his brow would crack in two right down the middle. She left him to continue chewing on the problem in silence for a time, her own thoughts lingering not simply on the issue at hand, but the difficulties associated with resolving it. Her condition made traveling abroad difficult at the best of times, and Kent's Crossing was nearly two weeks' travel by horse along conventional roads.

She knew of an unconventional one of course, but did not feel confident in her ability to make use of it. Her previous visit to the town, accompanying Marbas during the investigation of a string of murders and culminating in the discovery of Mister Fletcher himself, had involved passage through the immense forest known as the Lady's Wood. There were roads going through the Wood, but they had not been laid by human hands, and humans did not make use of them except in the direst of circumstances. The Lady for whom the forest was named did not take kindly to trespassers, by and large.

She supposed she could ask Marbas to see her through the Wood again, but that smacked uncomfortably of asking for a favor, and she had enough debt in her account towards that man. Especially since the more she learned about him, the more she considered the label of 'warlock' appropriate. Even his ability to traverse the Lady's Wood quickly and safely sprang from his ability to twist the terms of a mystically binding oath to his own ends, and she had no illusions over his hesitation in using her in whatever manner he saw fit if given the option. He wasn't one to break promises, but certainly one to exploit gaps in their wording.

"I foresee a problem," Simon's words broke into her thoughts, and he had the tone of one who was still grinding ideas together even as he spoke. "From what little I know of your condition, traditional travel rations are not an option."

He'd hit one of her larger concerns squarely upon the head, damn him.

"There are some conventional foods that I can consume without attracting undue attention," she demurred, though she knew that it would indeed be an issue over such a long journey, with settlements at times widely spread along the way. Another moment of silence, and then she sighed and relented, "But you are correct in that it will be a problem. I have never 'hunted' as my kind are known for, and Light willing I never will."

"...I'll go with you."

She stared, for the moment utterly dumbfounded, as though his words had physically knocked her thoughts out into the river itself. Perhaps taking her stunned-cow expression for displeasure or offense, he hunched his head down into his shoulders a bit and kept his eyes fixed on the river as he forged ahead.

"I know the way, I know Kent's Crossing well, I can help. And..." she could almost smell the young man nerving himself up, could guess what he was about to say. "And I can provide for you. Game, belike. Or... well. I heal very quickly."

She wasn't sure which of them were more horrified by the idea. But it had a logic to it.

"Mister Fletcher," and he flinched a little, though her tone was quiet, "I do most sincerely appreciate what you are offering, and regret the circumstances that drive you to even consider it. But even if you are resolved to this course of action," and she felt him shift stubbornly next to her, didn't even need to see his face to know the frown was back, "there remains the circumstances of your legal situation. We will need to bring the idea up to the Watch and receive their decision, if naught else."

He blew out a breath, a great gout of thin fog in the frigid air, unhappy but understanding. "As you say, miss. And it is rather late to be bothering the Inspector with such things, isn't it?"

"Indeed," and another moment of silence passed. Then she nudged his arm with her elbow and smiled, an attempt at levity, "For that matter, is it not rather late for you as well? What would the Watch think, staying out until all hours with a lady unchaperoned?"

He sputtered the entire way back to the precinct, and she giggled entirely too much at the poor boy.


	13. Preparations

"This was hardly what I had in mind."

"Well, it makes sense if you think about it really."

She gave Simon what she hoped was a withering look, but he just blinked mildly back at her from where he sat in the precinct's staff lounge. He certainly didn't seem even a little surprised that their proposal of a joint expedition was met with the counter-proposal of her joining the Special Watch. Of all people, her! She was hardly...

Well, no, if she was being honest she had to admit she had certain qualities that fit into the requirements of the job. Not that she'd asked for them. Or been trained for this kind of thing. Or any of it. Yes she was panicking a bit.

To try and distract herself from having the rug snatched out from under her mental feet, she went back to fidgeting with her new uniform, tugging restlessly at the hem of the thick black jacket that took the place of armor for the modern era's night-guard. Though considering what she'd been shown about the Specials' uniforms, "armor" wasn't far off the mark. There was metal wire in the weave, and the fabric itself was sturdy enough to at least deter a knife's blade, if not stop it completely. The high collar kept making her lift her chin uncomfortably though, and she was considerably out of sorts with having to wear trousers and jackboots. Not that such things were unbecoming of ladies by any means, she herself had just never fancied them in the slightest.

But she had to admit, the effect had been striking as she'd regarded herself in the mirror after changing. Somehow, the shortish, mousy Ann Eglantine of Neritic University she was familiar with had been replaced with the solid, forbidding pillar of Deputy Investigator Eglantine of the Special Watch. She suspected the tailoring of the outfit was deliberately intended to assist that demeanor, with firm lines and smart shoulders. Not to mention the utter lack of ornamentation: the only bits of color were her collar-tabs (dark blue for a junior deputy) and the symbol of the Special Watch itself embroidered in brilliant white on the right breast. She was fairly certain there was something arcane in that symbol, but things had been a bit whirlwind for her to try shaking details out of her abruptly new superior officer.

"However do they manage with these blasted collars? Just as well that I normally need to look up at people..."

Simon, to his credit, managed to stifle his chortling to a mere snort.

"If you've gotten comfortable with the new uniform, Miss Eglantine," and Ann's back slammed straight like a string had been pulled from the top of her head, so startled was she by the entrance of her superior. She hadn't even heard the woman coming! "I've spoken with my fellows within the Watch, and everything appears to be in order for us to depart once all the necessary supplies have been gathered."

"Er, you will be accompanying us, ma'am?"

Some part of her noted how Simon's demeanor had tucked down slightly as the Special Constable had drawn near, and honestly she herself had done much the same. There was something about this woman, some assurance of carriage and firmness of gaze, which made her feel rather like a bumbling pup in the presence of a veteran hunting hound. It didn't help that a faintly-amused smile always seemed to be lurking around the lady's lips, especially not when it was aimed down at Ann with calmly narrowed eyes.

"Oh indeed. We can't simply turn our most junior Investigator out into the world without guidance, now can we? I shall be instructing you upon protocol and procedure during our journey. You're lucky, really," and the lurking smile pulled into a grin, "you managed to bypass the physical training by merit of your condition. Most of our new applicants are in the camps for months."

"Uhm, yes ma'am."

"Come come, Miss Eglantine, it does not do for a member of the Special Watch to whimper into her collar," and the Constable's chin lifted slightly, her eyes hardening.

Something growled, low and far back in Ann's mind, and she found herself standing taller without really realizing she'd shifted her posture, weight rocked slightly forward. As unintentional and unwanted as it was, she was no longer some member of the herd to be cowed by a predator!

The Constable's smile deepened, and Ann fought down a bristle at the glint of approval in her eyes.

This was hardly fair.


	14. The First Leg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, sorry! Was moving, and that always throws things for a loop.

_Maybe I should have risked the Lady's Road after all..._

With a sigh, she turned the next page in the weighty manual of protocol that had been assigned to her by Watcher Evelyn, unable to even claim the fatigue of eyestrain as an excuse to put it down. The journey thus far had been so incredibly dull she almost felt as though she were being punished in some way, only exacerbated by the fact she was making most of the trip as luggage.

They had set out northwards the day after her unexpected appointment to the Special Watch, the carriage well-burdened with supplies - including herself, packed away in her "traveling bed" which was little more than a well-padded box locked from the inside. Since she was the only one operating on a purely nocturnal schedule, it had been decided that traveling at night would simply gather undue attention. And while she could not disagree, it still rankled. Every morning she locked herself in her box in whatever inn room her compatriots had managed to gather for their rest, and every evening she emerged in the next, to amuse herself as best she was able while Simon and the Watcher slept.

Or rather, to deal with what basically amounted to schoolwork. Bother.

They were making decent time, at least. This was their third stop, and would probably be the last bit of true civilization they had access to until they'd rounded the northern tip of the Lady's Wood. Between here and there, they would need to seek shelter in smaller hamlets and farming villages as they could, or even simply make camp alongside the road depending on conditions. She didn't relish that thought out of compassion for her fellows; unlike her, the weather could do them a serious disservice. At least there hadn't been any blizzards in the past week, though it still grew cold enough overnight that the wells needed to have ice broken away to be usable in the morning.

She could not sincerely complain overmuch, though. It was late enough in the year that the sun rose late and set early, so that she was not so lonely as one might expect. She was able to join her fellows in the inn for supper after a fashion, and even breakfast as well; the Watcher seemed to derive downright fiendish amusement at rousting poor Simon out of his bed at a truly unwholesome hour.

She worried, though. While there had been nothing to indicate their journey would encounter any notable problems along the way, it was still another ten days until their destination at best, and that was only worrying about the mundane difficulties of travel.

Her dreams lately had been... well, no more troubling than usual, if she were being honest. Perhaps it was simply the goal she pursued that made them seem worse. Because she was fairly certain what she sought in this world was one of the mysterious presences in that one. And not a small one, either.

She turned another page, then allowed the book to settle into her lap and her head back against her chair, eyes lifted to the ceiling without seeing it.

If she listened very carefully, when it was very quiet, she could almost...

She was jostled from her reverie by the abrupt barking of a dog, apparently some item on the street outside the inn meeting with its disapproval. Grimacing, she turned back to her studies. Saints help her if she fumbled some procedure while the Watcher was watching.

* * *

"Damnation. Er, pardon."

She didn't blame Simon in the least for his bit of profanity, given the circumstances. She rather felt like adding to it, truth be told. The pair of them were sitting on the driver's bench of the carriage as they started their trip out of town, taking a bit of company before the sun bid her retreat, and the far horizon had that ominous flat grey look to it that heralded snow, even to her city-born senses.

"Well, I suppose we can hope it will miss us?" she offered, though without much feeling, and the sour twist to Simon's mouth certainly indicated his opinions on the matter. "I'll inform the Watcher."

They weren't moving very quickly, the horses still grumpy with being put into harness so early in such cold weather, so it was hardly a test of her athleticism to hop down to the road and back up onto the step at the passenger door of the carriage. A knock on the window, and the Watcher's expression suggested she knew what was coming even before Ann opened her mouth.

"Looks like snow ahead, ma'am. Hard to tell how much or which way it's going, but both Mister Fletcher and I think we're headed right into it."

"I see. Well, Miss Eglantine, this is your expedition. Do we press on?"

She wasn't at all comfortable having to field that particular ball. And, squinting ahead towards that smear of grey on the horizon, she found herself hesitating. It would be simple enough to call it all off and turn back, to be home in her own bed in only a few days.

But then she'd never know, would she?

"I would like to, ma'am. Truth be told," and she discovered the somewhat wry smile the Watcher often wore sat easily on her own face for the moment, "it will be a more punishing test for you and the horses. I don't even notice the cold anymore."

"As you say. Well, it's getting rather late for you besides, come on in and get settled while I discuss some things with our dear Mister Fletcher."

It probably looked like some bit of circus farce if anyone were watching, the Watcher clambering out the door on one side of the carriage while she clambered in through the other. But they didn't have the time to spare to stop, not really. Especially not if they were going to have to contend with a blizzard while between settlements. They only carried so much in the way of supplies.

* * *

"I feel I must apologize for dragging you along through this, Simon."

They'd managed to find a stand of pines not far from the road that blocked the worst of the wind, but the snow was falling heavily in thick, wet clumps that clung wherever they struck, needing to be shaken from shoulders and hats constantly. The horses were complaining bitterly and she blamed them not a jot as she and Simon worked to get the pair bundled and sheltered as best they were able. At least they'd packed for this, but it was still a ghastly business to attend to with the sun down and the wind like a scalpel's blade anywhere there was a gap.

"I won't say it's a jolly holiday, miss. But I've been through worse," the man grunted as he hauled his end of the tarp into place and lashed it to a tree's trunk. "Had to rescue a sheep from a river in weather like this once, now that was a nightmare, tell you what."

She didn't even want to consider it.

The three of them reconvened in the lee of the carriage, and it was agreed their best option would be to hunker down until the storm blew over. There was no chance at building a fire in this wind, though they had sort of stove-can and a small supply of coal they could make use of if needed. Sleeping arrangements would probably prove a bit aggravating, given the size of the carriage...

She somehow heard a faint creak of steel and twine through the wind, and whipped around to snatch the crossbow quarrel out of the air before it struck her.

And promptly dropped it with a screech as agony flowered up her arm. The shaft was practically soaked with holy water!

The second bolt took her squarely beneath the collarbone, and she fell into darkness, a thunderous howl echoing in her ears.


	15. Impact

She could taste herself in the water, pain and confusion and fury. Her body jerked and twisted, trying to get away from the agony that rippled through her.

She voiced a scream into the dark, a sound she had never heard before but which she understood instinctively.

_Hunter!_

She heard the cry echo away into the darkness, heard other voices take it up, some near, some distant, until the sea churned with the warning.

_Hunter, hunter, hunter..._

The water throbbed against her, something huge moving in the depths, and adding its voice to the chorus, a howl of warning and fury.

_HUNTER_

She broke the surface.

* * *

She became conscious of blood and flesh in her mouth, and the taste of it was... **_exquisite_**. Words could not begin to describe the way her body responded, the fire pounding down her throat and flowering inside her senses. It was not even remotely sexual, it so far surpassed that earthly sensation as a sunset to a candle's guttering flame.

She became conscious of a voice that she knew. It had been speaking to her before now, she realized, and meaning filtered through the haze of feeding bliss like smoke.

"Miss, miss please, I need that..."

It was Simon's arm in her teeth, though his tone was rather like that of someone trying to coax their sock from the grip of a rambunctious puppy.

She released him with rather more chagrin than said pup, clapping both hands to her mouth in recalcitrant horror. Moving such reminded her of the wound that had knocked her into the dark sea, a dull ache throbbing through her chest and shoulder, and she winced away from it, trying to sit up.

"Simon! Light strike me I'm sorry-"

"Hssh, it's alright, you took a scare," and she would have sobbed if she were physically able at the way he was treating her, like some poor frightened animal that had nipped him by mistake. Which wasn't far off the mark, to be fair, and she felt rather like sobbing anyway, nevermind that she'd probably savaged him badly. But he was calmly wrapping a bandage around his arm as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and she carefully ignored the way she was sucking her own teeth clean. Stop salivating girl, he is not some sort of choice treat...

Wait.

"Simon, what happened? I was shot, and...?"

"Don't entirely know, miss. It happened fast, you were down before the Watcher or I realized we had trouble, but I was able to take off after him when I heard you scream." Tugging at the knot in his binding to make sure of it, the young man looked entirely more perturbed over the situation than about the holes she'd made in his skin, "Filthy bugger'd obscured his trail, couldn't get a scent on him for nothing. Must have been planning this, Light knows how long he's been following us. The Watcher got the bolt out of you while I was chasing around in the snow, and we got you comfortable."

Only now did she realize she was propped up inside the carriage, the blizzard moaning softly outside the windows.

"She's up top keeping watch now. The storm's not a bad one really, but we're going to be digging out a bit come morning. You feeling alright now?"

She wasn't honestly sure.

"He was hunting vampires, Simon. Those bolts he fired were treated with holy water, they wouldn't have been more than an irritation for me otherwise." This revelation pulled a growl from him that almost had her fangs at full extension in sympathetic umbrage, nevermind the way they'd been pricking at her lower lip this entire time. Down girl, this is **not** a meal sitting across from you. "And don't shush me, I am so _very_ sorry for attacking you like that. We can claim extenuating circumstances all we like, but I still bit you."

"Ach, t'weren't nothing," he mumbled into his beard, already shrugging back into his coat. She must not have applied full pressure, she knew she could crack bone in her teeth if she tried. "You just rest now, miss. I'm set to check the perimeter again. Be my luck our new friend come sniffing about again, eh?"

She managed not to blither further as he let himself out into the snow, and buried her face in her hands once she was alone, fighting for control over a storm all her own. It was going to be a long night.


	16. Silence

Dark and cold and still was the night.

If any hour could be considered unholy, Ann thought to herself, it would be this one. The blizzard that had driven them to stop had tapered off to a simple snow storm, the wind having died to practically nothing though the snow continued to fall thickly. Really, it would be pretty if it weren't as dark as the inside of a barrel in a basement.

And if she didn't know there was someone out there hunting her. For the first time since she'd been turned, the night held something for her to fear.

She, the Watcher, and Simon had reviewed what they knew: while they were unawares, someone had crept close enough to loose not one but two crossbow bolts at her with startling accuracy, given the weather and lighting. Neither she nor Simon had scented the unknown assailant, but they may simply have approached from upwind, she honestly could not recall the finer points of the moment in her distraction at the time. The quarrels, upon inspection, where of very high grade manufacture, and not simply treated with holy water but also etched with all manner of occult and semi-occult symbols; the shafts had actually crackled faintly when near her, as though cinders fresh from the hearth were just beneath their surface. Given the power and accuracy of the shots themselves, one could presume the crossbow which had flung them of similar quality.

Someone with quite a lot of money wanted her dead. Or, well, deader than her usual. Really, if it hadn't been for Simon being in the party she was rather of the opinion she would not have seen another night. Though she was certain Watcher Evelyn was highly skilled, she was also certain that seeing a charging werewolf from the wrong side had not been in their uninvited guest's plans.

It had bought them time, though she doubted it had ended the pursuit outright. Anyone that hunted vampires was by definition of rather stern stuff. Or howling mad. Probably both.

She was sitting watch while the others slept, perched atop the wagon and sitting as motionless as she was able. She had no breath to fog the night air, did not need to shiver against the cold, and in many ways was perfectly suited for this sort of thing. Though it was a somewhat odd sensation to feel snow building up upon her body in a gentle, chill blanket. She did not so much watch the surroundings as listen to them; though her vision could still function in total darkness, there was little to discern past the drifting curtains of snowflakes. Not even the owls were out hunting at this hour.

So she sat, and listened, and pondered.

_Far, far down in her mind, she heard the howls in the sea. It made her want to prowl, to seek, but it also urged caution. Danger, danger in the dark._

Snow slid from a branch, tumbling to earth with a soft, wet thump, and she considered her options.

They could continue on as they had been, knowing they were being hunted. It perhaps gave them the chance to catch their pursuer, but likewise it kept them in danger. Until and unless they could pinpoint their assailant's position, at any moment they could be attacked again, and perhaps this time to greater effect.

They could turn back, with all the same difficulties and also perhaps leading the hunter to their homes, if they were not already discovered. She was rather nervous towards this idea already, given some of the previously unexplainable occurrences within the city that she had experienced. Just how long had this hunter been stalking her?

Another option lurked, and it gave her nearly as much pause as the hunter.

She did not turn her head, but she could practically feel the vast, silent presence of the Lady's Wood to the west. They could reach the periphery inside a day even if the weather turned sour again.

But that would bring its own nest of problems, wouldn't it?


	17. Considerations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, life's been... well, life. We've all been there.

It had been both a relief and somewhat nerve-wracking to discover the Special Watch protocol manuals had an entire section devoted solely to the Lady and her Wood, and even moreso of the latter when she discovered just how slim that section was. Still, it was something, and she had devoured what information it could provide while Watcher Evelyn and Simon were getting themselves in order in the pre-dawn hours.

The Wood was ancient, she well knew that from simple history lessons, pre-dating her home city since before there was even a castle on the headland. It was only in relatively recent years that civilization had grown near enough to the Wood's borders that the Lady became something to consider, and so far a careful tradition of letting her maintain her privacy had seemed to work out for the best.

Well, excepting the Wood War and all, but that was something of a special case by anyone's standards.

Roughly a decade ago, a resident of the city had entered the Wood and done something to infuriate the Lady, to the extent where the Wood had left its traditional borders and started physically encroaching upon the buildings and streets. Accounts from that time were somewhat sketchy, but by all records it was less a matter of attack and defense and more of simply hoping trees and underbrush weren't suddenly rooted in your living room when you weren't paying attention. The city had no defense, didn't even really know how to go about it, and undoubtedly would have been swallowed whole if the situation hadn't been rectified.

She had learned rather recently that the person behind all that mess was none other than her ersatz associate, Marbas. Though she hadn't managed to shake the particulars out of him, he had plainly admitted to being the instigating factor in the Wood War, as well as resolving it by swearing an oath to the Lady which she accepted as sufficient apology. In all honesty, she wasn't much surprised given what she knew of the man. She was fairly certain he was the sort to wander into a god's parlor and make unflattering commentary of the upholstery without invitation, given the chance.

...she wouldn't be in the least surprised if that was exactly what had happened, come to think of it.

The manual's section on the Lady started, rather unsurprisingly, with large, bold, scurrilously red print declaring that it was official Watch policy that no contact of any sort was to be initiated with the Lady or her Wood, in whole or in part, without the expressed and witnessed permission of at least one senior Watcher, or under the direst of circumstances. It went on to explain that it was difficult to predict the Lady's responses to what most folk would regard as the most normal of interactions, referencing a few case files (which were obnoxiously not available for her to peruse), and expanding in rather overblown language on the fact that while the Lady was to all appearances not a malign entity, she was by no means to be regarded as friendly to human needs.

With that out of the way, the section went on to the main points of what interactions with the Lady had been documented. In the broad sense, it seemed simple politeness did the most good; effectively, there was a distinct need to keep in mind that you were at best an uninvited guest in the home of a powerful and inhuman creature, though one that could at least in theory be reasoned with. There was a particular note that bargaining had very mixed results, and frequently did not turn out as the bargainer would have hoped. Not that the Lady ever violated her promises, being one of what was classified as Elder or Greater Fae she was effectively prevented from doing so by her very nature. But sometimes words were tricky, slippery things, and sometimes what the bargainer thought they were getting was not what they had actually asked for.

In broad summary, it seemed the Lady was rather like some grand old duchess that enjoyed her privacy, but would sometimes tolerate visitors provided they did not annoy her. Which... had possibilities. Especially in the current situation.

Settling the manuals back among her things, Ann tugged her uniform straight, lifted her chin, and sallied forth to present her case to the Watcher.

* * *

"If I am properly understanding your proposal, miss Eglantine, you intend to treat with an ancient and eldritch creature of unknown and unknowable motivations for safe passage for all of us through her home."

"Yes ma'am."

"Can I presume that you have taken the time to read the protocol section about this very creature?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you believe that you will somehow be able to secure what it is you seek?"

"Er, perhaps ma'am? I have met the Lady before, though only briefly, and thought that might help my case somewhat."

"Have you now? Well well..."

She felt even more like a recalcitrant schoolgirl before the Watcher than she usually did, and had to keep a firm grip on her desire to fidget under the narrow regard that was turned her way. Not that the Watcher seemed displeased as such. But if there was one thing she'd learned about Watcher Evelyn in the brief time they'd been working together, it's that the woman had a mind full of teeth, and she could see them gnashing behind those thoughtful eyes.

Ann broke the pause, feeling rather like she were assaulting a doorway in the process, "I by no means intend to simply traipse into the Wood and hope that we escape notice, ma'am, nor do I expect you or Mister Fletcher to risk yourselves unduly. It was my intent for the carriage to stop at the periphery and myself to venture into the Wood alone, seeking audience and to request leave to enter."

"I see. And if your request is denied?"

"Then I suppose we'll just have to go back to the road again, ma'am."

"Mmn. You do realize that as the senior Watcher in this little endeavor I could simply deny your request and declare this plan untenable?"

"Yes ma'am. The manual was very explicit that this would require your understanding and permission."

Finally the Watcher's expression shifted from the calculating mask it had held up to now, a wry little smile tucking itself into Evelyn's cheek, "I do so relish having a student that finally does her reading. Well done, Miss Eglantine, well done indeed. Well then." Setting her traveling mug down on the nearby carriage step, the Watcher got to her feet and brushed snow from her trousers, "As senior Watcher on this little endeavor, I do hereby grant permission to begin. However," and Ann's instincts hissed as she was impaled by a look that she was fairly certain could frost glass, "if you have **any** intimation that the situation is getting out of hand, you are to withdraw as immediately as is possible. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am. Perfectly clear."


	18. An Odd Current

The sea was different this morning. She tasted things growing and green, felt small movements nearby, heard... something.

The warning howls still echoed within the sea, but they were faint, thin with distance. This was something else. She'd heard all manner of sounds while she floated in the dark sea, some lovely, some puzzling, some terrifying, some an odd mix of all of that.

This was like a song she could only partially remember, the words blurred to a smoothed-out melody.

Something brushed against her and she writhed away in surprise, hissing a warning. But there was no response, no sense of presence in the water. A moment, silent and still and perplexed, and then she moved back to that point of contact.

...There it was again. Like a strand of creeper, waving softly in the current.

She wasn't sure what puzzled her more, the fact that there were plants here or that this was the first time she'd ever encountered one.

Something was wrong, this wasn't her part of the sea. She was adrift, lost.

Another strand brushed her in the darkness, soft as silk, and she turned in place, trying to decide what to do. The sea had always been very nebulous in terms of "place," there had never been anything resembling landmarks or features to it before. Except the sounds, moving far away in the dark; she'd even come to catalog a few of them that seemed to be constant in her "area."

Maybe this was just another place in the sea, and she was here because of her waking travels?

She cast about, listening, filtering taste and scent from the water in search of insight. Such a different flavor, thick with soil and leaf, almost choking. Like silt in the water. She could hear a prickling low in her belly, feel a cool current in the sea... over there, a little ways.

One of the vast voices that she had heard before (she'd taken to calling it 'the Pines' because it often creaked like trees in the wind) moaned briefly, giving her a bearing. But it sounded even more distant than usual. And not nearly as far beneath her as she was used to.

She squirmed, her skin itching with that lingering almost-song. Was it getting closer?

Abruptly her senses were overwhelmed on all fronts. It was as though she stood in front of a gap in a broken dam, pressure surging against her, sound crashing through her, her own startled squeal of dismay lost in the **LIGHT**.

She could see, for the first time since she'd plunged into this sea. She could **SEE** and it **HURT**. A great and terrible brightness moved among the forest of which she floated in the periphery, and the **SONG** washed over her as she recoiled, trying to shield eyes that she had not truly known she possessed until that moment.

She screamed apology, entreaty, and agony.

Silence and darkness returned so suddenly it was almost as painful as the light had been, and she shuddered, keening softly and without thought, feeling the forest moving languidly around her as though nothing at all had happened. She would be panting if things worked that way, crackles of remembered pain making her twitch and shiver.

The current shifted, and she jerked as she felt herself drawn into it, preparing to bolt as best she could.

The song touched her softly, and she stilled, shaking in terror.

She could feel the forest brushing against her, hear sounds that seemed so alien to everything she knew about this place. Then there was light again, and she flinched from it even though it was dim and distant. It sang softly to her of time and memory and emptiness, of places that were and places that were not, and of small things brushing the edges of each without ever breaching within.

Curled tight and drifting at the mercy of the forest, she hissed thinly in bewilderment, and felt the water around her respond.

Her face slammed into the inside of her travelling bed's lid hard enough to rattle the hinges and her teeth, and she didn't scream only because she had failed to draw in air to do so. Consciousness was an assault, an attack, her body and mind both rebelling against the abrupt change of state, and she struggled within the narrow confines of her box before managing to calm herself somewhat.

Before she finished ripping the lid off, at any rate.

She realized she was sobbing, and that her mouth tasted of earth.

She decided that she would pretend that nothing had happened and stay here for a time.

And shake a bit, yes definitely that as well.


	19. Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry. Life's been life; nothing major, just the usual Being Adult garbage piling up a bit.

Dinner that evening was somewhat subdued, with all thoughts turned towards the looming presence of the Lady's Wood nearby, though for perhaps different reasons. Ann could tell the Watcher was thinking furiously, probably going over contingencies and just what in heaven's name she was going to put in her report if she made it out of this madness. Simon seemed somewhat dour and on-edge, and she quite firmly stamped on the mental image of a mastiff whining in fret. It wouldn't do to giggle at the poor boy.

Especially since it was becoming increasingly plain that if she were to survive this trip she would need his assistance, one way or the other. She hoped he would be able to bring down some game and spare them both the alternative. Even if her subconscious insisted on reminding her just how good he had tasted. Especially compared to the cold, old "trail rations" she was having to deal with. Within the city, when she could at least gain fresh sustenance, it wasn't so bad, especially when it could be heated up properly. Out here...

Better to not think about it, considering what was coming.

They had agreed that the carriage would stop at the marked border of the Lady's Wood, while she would proceed ahead on foot and plead their case. The standing stones that had been placed by the side of the road served to indicate the edges of where the Lady considered her territory to be, but nobody even joked about them serving to contain her. More the other way around, really.

And now, as she stood next to the tall, ivy-shrouded pillar of rock, she found herself remarkably reluctant to step past it.

_Enough fussing, girl. You've been here before. Just... get on with it._

She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and stepped forward.

On one hand, only the standing stone served to note any distinction between what was and was not the Wood. The trees were the same, bare and blanketed with snow at this time of year. The road was still stone beneath her feet, rather finely cobbled but nothing out of the ordinary in itself. The sky, when it was visible through the overhead branches, was the same as she was used to.

On the other hand, things were very different. The road was clear of snow, as though swept clean mere moments before. It was somehow quieter than before, as though even the gently falling snow were holding its breath. An owl sitting on a branch near the road regarded her calmly, and she resolved to pass it by without staring or giving it the satisfaction of seeing her discomfited.

She also firmly told herself that she could not turn and look back the way she'd come, either. That never ended well, even when not dealing with supernatural forces beyond comprehension. Though she did wonder just how long she would need to wait before the Lady found her.

_Oh._

Rounding a gentle curve in the road, she spotted what seemed at first glance to be a gap in the trees and underbrush, dark against the light of stars and moon reflecting off the snow, and as she had drawn near it became apparent the gap was in the shape of a deer with its head raised.

And it opened eyes the color of starlight.

Ann didn't so much stop as she became involved in a spirited debate with her legs over whether they wanted to bolt back the way she'd come or just give out altogether, with her conscious mind's attempts to remain calm throwing the whole works into deadlock. She didn't shake as the black doe stepped daintily onto the stone of the road, the delicate specks of fallen snow on Her pelt seeming more like glints of light from far within some fantastically faceted gem. She had no heart to slam against her ribs as the Lady stopped before her, the crest of Her shoulders a few inches above Ann's own head. How long they remained like that, silent and still, Ann had no real notion, all her carefully rehearsed words scurrying around inside her head like panicked mice at the bottom of a bucket.

She was startled by a voice, and more than a little surprised to recognize it as hers, "Good evening ma'am. I do hope that you do not find my intrusion this night unwelcome."

The Lady chuckled softly, her voice a velvety contralto that made the small hairs on Ann's neck stand up in a not-unpleasant way. It was an oddly human voice, and yet... not. "We do not welcome you yet, little one. But you have not yet caused us offense either. Why have you come here?" The more the Lady spoke, the harder it was for Ann to actually focus on Her words. It was as though Her voice was at the far end of a very wide cavern, clear and without echoes but somewhat hollow. And it was... uncomfortable.

Yes, uncomfortable was perhaps the best way to describe it.

"My companions and I were traveling nearby, and found ourselves in a rather troublesome situation, Lady," Ann began as carefully as she was able, still feeling lurking panic gnawing at the back of her mind and praying to every Saint that she didn't say something foolish. "While we would not dare presume upon you to resolve it, we were wondering if you would allow us to travel the road within your borders."

"Indeed?" the Lady murmured, and the tone had a tingle racing up Ann's spine that she hadn't felt since she was a teenager not even into university, her jaw clenching against it. Focus, girl. Even if the Lady _is_ flirting with you, you do _not_ want to take her up on it! There are stories about this!

"Walk with me," and the Lady turned to begin pacing along the road in the direction Ann had previously been going, and which she hurried along once more until she paced beside the black doe's shoulder. They continued like that for a time in silence, hers strung taut and singing with tension, the Lady's rather more inscrutable. Though Ann fancied She seemed thoughtful. "Tell us of what brought you to our road," She finally spoke again, and Ann swallowed in an attempt to clear a throat that felt well and truly frozen.

"A hunter, ma'am."

She knew instantly that something had changed; the night seemed darker, the wood closer, the wind whispering around her ankles and moaning in the branches. Clenching whatever remained of her innards against panic, she forged on, "Someone has taken it upon themselves to end my life as it currently stands. Not an uncommon opinion when it comes to one of my affliction, and usually rather warranted at that." She saw the Lady only as a faint bit of movement in her peripheral vision, and dared not turn her head towards or away, instead just walking as calmly as she could with her eyes resolutely ahead. "So far as I am aware however, I have done nothing to encourage such a reaction. Beyond my continued existence, one supposes."

An arm settled across her shoulders, a drape of fabric trailing against her back, and she was rather proud that she neither jerked away in panic nor unthinkingly moved towards that invitation. Just... just stay steady, girl. Keep it together.

"We know hunters, indeed." The Lady's voice was darker as well, but also sad, the unhappiness of one that has seen the same pain again and again.

"Ma'am, I feel compelled to speak in my foe's defense." She felt the fingers on her shoulder tighten slightly, heard snow hiss against tree bark, and forged onwards. "Whoever they may be, they have not struck at my companions, and given the traditional behaviors of those that share my affliction, a brave soul could not be blamed for seeking to remove what they clearly believed to be a danger."

She heard a sigh beside her, saw a cloud of breath in the darkness. "As you say."

Another time of silence, walking beside the Lady with Her arm across Ann's shoulders, their footsteps soft on the stone of the road. Ann didn't dare turn to look at the Lady, though she was certain from what she could hear and feel that the doe she had seen before was something else now. A hiss trailed them that could be a gown's train, and she could smell warm cinnamon and amber.

"Where are you and your companions bound, little one?"

"Do you know the town of Kent's Crossing, Lady?"

A soft, thoughtful noise that wasn't exactly human dragged another shiver up Ann's neck, "Not as such, perhaps. But we may. Give me your hand."

Some part of Ann noticed the shift in pronoun, from plural to singular, and wondered at it even as she offered her nearer hand towards where she presumed the Lady to be. Warm fingers as soft as a new kitten's fur cupped it, lifted it.

She felt pain in her wrist, a prick as sharp as the finest needle, and...

something was happening she was what was where

trees

stone

soil

warmth and life and light and Light

The freezing air of the Wood slammed back into Ann's lungs as she staggered. She wasn't sure if she'd been struck blind or if she just couldn't process what she was seeing at first, and she clasped both hands to her face, eyes clenched shut as she tried to keep her balance, tried to keep herself.

She became aware of arms around her, warmth against her face, breath against her hair, and as much as she welcomed the support she shook at the implication. "P-please my Lady, troub-b-ble yourself not for me-"

"Hush."

She obeyed.

In time, the world steadied, her legs grew firm once more, but she dared not pull away. The cold no longer nipped at her ears, the wind no longer tugged at her hair, but she dared not relax.

Hunger twisted inside her like a weasel, and she clenched her teeth to keep it back. She didn't even want to consider...

Finally, she felt the Lady release her and step away, the sound of cloven hooves soft of the stone of the path, and she drew a long, steadying though unnecessary breath as she lowered her hands. The Wood was dark around her as before, but it was simply trees and snow once again. She looked at her wrist but saw no mark there, though it ached a bit still. Really, her entire body ached a little, rather like she had fallen from some height.

An owl called quietly in the distance, and she turned to look around for the first time since she had started walking, trying to gain her bearings.

The Lady stood not far away, and she was... there. Ann could not describe Her, even to herself. She was simply the Lady of the Wood, and trying to define her further was failing.

"Please ma'am," Ann stammered a bit, "I'm having trouble seeing you."

"Oh, of course," was the amused response, and without transition was resolved to have hair the black of bare willow branches stretching to the ground and along it, skin like the sun shining through clouds onto snow, eyes like an iced-over stream, clad in a fur coat like a cloud of the night sky. Even as she managed these realizations, Ann could not help but snort at herself for their poeticism. But... they were accurate. Incomplete, but accurate.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm afraid that your hospitality has somewhat overwhelmed me."

The Lady smiled and Ann's head swum. It wasn't that the Lady was beautiful, though She was, nor that She had been gentle during Ann's distress, though She had. She was simply too _much_ to really take in easily, even wrapped in shape and word as She was now.

"Are you recovered, little one? Do you wish to return to your companions?"

That was a dangerous question, Ann could smell it.

"I do not wish to infringe on your hospitality more than I already have, ma'am. We are already uninvited guests, and I fear that I have taken too much of your time already."

"Uninvited perhaps, but not unwelcome."

Ann's knees threatened to turn to water at any moment.

"Walk with me."

Once more, she found herself treading the stone path beside the Lady, the latter's arm across her shoulders again, and once again she was not entirely certain where they were headed. They might be returning the way she had come, but she had no points of reference with which to be sure. Her increasing distraction wasn't helping, either; not simply her senses rebelling at being overwhelmed by her experiences, but her hunger was beginning to cross that line from annoyance into troublesome. She never let herself get this bad at home.

She discovered there was a teacup in her hands, finely wrought in white enamel, steaming gently in the cold air. She had no notion as to how it had gotten there. But the smell of it was intoxicating, and she barely caught herself as she begun to lift it to her lips.

"My Lady, I can't- I mean..."

The soft chuckle beside her had her hands shaking.

"I do very much appreciate your hospitality ma'am, but I have given you nothing in return, and I fear that I will not be in any position to repay your kindness."

"Oh, but you already have, little one."

She was abruptly terrified.

Before she could think of a response, the Lady was speaking again as they continued to walk. "We have spent more time here than we believe you can understand. We find ourselves more distant of late than we have been before, though not as distant as we have been before then. Though you perhaps understand why we are not so accepting of visitors these days."

Not for the first time, Ann wondered if her earlier trip through the Wood with Marbas was a point for or against her with the Lady. Whatever he had done to offend Her had been enough to nearly doom the city, for all that She seemed calm enough about it now.

"Ma'am, I do not pretend to understand the workings of the world, certainly not to the degree which you do. But my manners are not so lacking as to barge into another's home without warning and expect to be showered with gifts." Her fingers flexed carefully around the cup she had been given, the liquid it held glinting in the night. "You say I have already brought things to an account, but I do not know how."

The hand on her shoulder lifted to her hair, the touch gentle, and so soothing that her eyes closed a moment all of their own accord.

"We missed you, little one."

She really, really didn't want to consider that too deeply. She took the safer route, and lifted the cup to her lips. The taste flowered through her, warm and deep and nostalgic, like every memory she cherished of her family sitting by the hearth. And at the same time, it was fierce and hot and she felt the tips of her fangs tap against the inner shell of the cup as she drank it down slowly, savoring it as though she had a choice in the matter.

When she lowered the cup, she was standing beside the stone that marked the edge of the Wood, alone. She looked at the stone, then down to the cup she still held in her hands, then back towards the Wood. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, or why she felt a sniffle lurking in her eyes, but the dark trees told her nothing.

A few minutes of walking later, Simon met her on the road and brought her back to the carriage, tromping along beside her with questions clearly trying to chew their way out of his throat, while she gloried in his merely earthly presence. Certainly he was some beast out of fantasy whose capabilities she did not truly understand, but he was just Simon, and that simple fact was just so oddly reassuring as she brushed her thumb against the delicate inlay of the cup she carried.

As they all climbed back onto the carriage and turned it to the road, she attempted to relate what had happened to the Watcher. She could tell she didn't do a very good job, but she didn't really expect to. She was more than a little giddy, really. She didn't even think anything of it when Simon stopped them, frowning at the milestone by the crossroad they reached.

"We're... on the other side of the Wood."

She just smiled like a twitterpated schoolgirl at the look the Watcher turned to her, and tried not to giggle at the thought of how this report was going to look.


	20. Interlude

Elsewhere, a vial of blood suddenly rattled in its rack. The motion wasn't violent, wasn't dramatic, but the fact that it had occurred at all brought attention to it.

Careful fingers lifted the vial, examined the label upon it, then held it up before a bright lamp kept nearby for that very purpose. With the light shining through it, it was possible to see a few fine, branching tendrils twining through the blood like strands of thread or vine.

Replacing the vial in its rack, the man opened his notebook and began to write.

_Specimen A. Eglantine showing abrupt filicalate (possibly lygodiacate) intrusions._

_No response in other Eglantine specimens._

_No response in specimen S. Fletcher._

_No response in personal specimen._

_Observation continues._


	21. Songs in the Dark

Unhurried, precise motions twined the ribbon around his fingers, his palm, his wrist, dark blue satin against pale skin. Not tight enough to constrict, not loose enough to fall free, the crisscross of fabric following no true pattern.

Chaos with intent, planned disorder.

He gripped the knife by the blade, holding it before him as though contemplating the plain, serviceable hilt. This was not some bejeweled heirloom or storied relic; a working knife, meant for doing what was needed and no more.

He drew the blade from his hand, held his fist over the altar, and opened his fingers.

A few scraps of severed ribbon floated to the tabletop, but not one drop of blood tapped against the white silk covering it.

He smiled.

In his study, his pen swept over paper, leaving ink and intent in its wake.

_To my esteemed associate, the Red Duke of Tangled Boughs, I send greetings. Your niece continues to provide exemplary service, though I do believe she will not seek to renew her contract with me when the year is through._

_That being said, I have something to ask of you..._


	22. Digging in Dust

They entered the town with little fanfare, their carriage following the main street between the outflung farms with no notice from anyone more inquisitive than a drowsy cow or three. Even when they reached the more populated area, practically all of the townsfolk were indoors due to a combination of the weather and dinnertime. Though they had left the blizzard well behind, snow still rested thick and heavy on the ground and rooftops, and would likely remain such until early spring at soonest.

She spotted Simon surreptitiously leaning over to breathe deeply the scent of a roasting pig as they passed the main inn, and managed to contain a giggle. Poor boy. The long trip had taken its toll on all of them, even with the unexpected shortcut...

They had left the Lady's Wood at a point roughly a day and a half's travel from Kent's Crossing, and had made rather good time by most considerations. The road was a bit deep with snow here and there, but not to the point where they could not make it passable between the lot of them, and nothing else had served to delay them along the way.

The local constabulary were welcoming in a professional way, though understandably perplexed as to why a pair of Special Watch investigators were there, apparently bringing back the town's most recent problem child. Once reassured that their presence had nothing to do with Simon or any further misbehavior of said (much to Simon's poorly-concealed relief), the officers were happy to show them to the station's guest rooms. No staying at the inn for them, this was official business.

Well, sort of.

Once they'd gotten their luggage stashed away, it was agreed Simon and the Watcher would go see to their meal while Ann begun the actual investigation, and appraise them of anything she found. She very carefully failed to mention the fact that she herself was not hungry.

She hadn't been hungry since the Wood, and she was just as carefully not thinking about that particular fact.

Instead she gathered up what determination she could and waded deep into the constabulary's records department. She wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for, but she knew the only way to find it would be to scrounge through staggering amounts of chokingly banal historical accounts. If what she thought was here was actually here, it would have left a pattern that she could, she hoped, trace.

And while she theoretically had another means of gathering information, not only would that need to wait until morning, she was rather reluctant to place too much faith in it. She still wasn't sure how closely the dark sea of her dreams and this waking world were related, after all.

Five hours, three shelving units, and enough dust to smother a horse later, she was beginning to think she'd have better luck with augury.

Deciding she needed some fresh air, and brushing futilely at the dust frosting her uniform, she went to seek out the night shift's Chief Inspector to see if he had any particular insights. It wasn't until she'd done one complete circuit of the interior of the constabulary that she realized she had no real idea where to even find the man. He didn't seem to have an office here, curiously enough...

"Excuse me, constable-"

" _Saints!_ Er, yes miss?"

She really needed to stop sneaking up on these poor boys. Holding back a grin with mild difficulty, she inquired as to where she might find the Inspector?

The roof? How curious.

Once she poked her head up over the top of the ladder, however, she understood almost immediately. Soft rustles, cooing, and the musty scent of feathers surrounded her as she lifted herself fully into the station's messenger coop. It must have been heavily modified over time, this was a noticeably non-standard arrangement, and she tracked her target along the narrow hallway on the interior side of the pigeon nesting boxes. Ah, here we are.

Knocking on the door, she was bid enter, and she did.

A brief round of pleasantries taught her much about the man that oversaw this station during the night shift. One of those folk that preferred figures and diagrams to people when given the option, and who was only Chief Inspector because of his razor aptitude for separating data from dross. He hated interviewing people, and would much rather be left alone with his maps, his reports, and his birds.

Perfect.

"Sir, while I hope not to disturb you overmuch, I have something of a puzzle before me." She could see the quirk of interest in his brows, and tugged the hook a little. "I am here in something of an experimental fact-finding role, you see. Information has come into my keeping that suggests there is something in this area, but as to what that thing is, or even where, I have very little to work with."

Something the Special Watch was interested in and could not find, but which had left clues. She saw his pupils widen slightly, heard his nails scratch against the surface of his desk as he lifted a pencil to fiddle with. She had him.

"I have begun a preliminary survey of this station's records," and she did not need to exaggerate the grimace she aimed at the dust still clinging stubbornly to her sleeves, "but as I have mentioned, I am not even entirely sure what I am looking for. Though..." and she hesitated, debating a moment.

"Sir, I have some reason to believe that the item we are seeking is in actuality an ancient vampire."

Oh he was not pleased by that, not at all.

She had to take some time to reassure the Inspector that there was certainly no reason to believe the town in danger. After all, if her supposition was correct, this creature had been in place possibly since before the town even existed, and if it was going to make itself a problem it certainly would have done so already. Though she did not mention the fact that, if her supposition was correct, there was probably very little any of them could do to stop such a creature should it decide to cause problems.

Some discussion and chat later, she left his office taking the promise that he would see about finding some maps taken during various points in the town's history, as well as helping her sort through the mountain of records for something actually useful to her goal.

Quite a profitable evening indeed.


	23. Digging and digging

It was maddening to dig and dig and find absolutely nothing. In fact an excessive amount of nothing.

If Kent's Crossing was in any way remarkable, it was that it was perhaps one of the quietest places in the district when it came to preternatural phenomena. The only reference to anything of the sort which Ann could find in the records wasn't even supernatural in origin, merely in resolution: a rather pernicious blight had struck the town's crops around 50 years ago, and was only dealt with through the services of a local witch. And that witch had, rather prudently, left the area soon after being paid for her assistance. Such folk preferred their privacy as a matter of course, and there would always be naysayers muttering that perhaps she had started the blight herself.

Which was probably why privacy was so valued by such folk.

But apart from that one brief bubble, nothing. Nothing until Mister Fletcher's unfortunately abrupt discovery of his _wer_ heritage, and the yet more recent vampire attack. And she had a small personal theory that said attack had only happened because the perpetrator was hoping to blame the mess on Mister Fletcher somehow.

The sheer void of such things made her even more suspicious. But for the life of her she could not get a hand on any _reason_ for it, and she prowled irritably back and forth in front of the table strewn with old maps which had become her ersatz workspace for the evening. The night Inspector had joined her at one point, but he seemed as empty-handed as she. Well, excepting his mug of coffee, which he sipped thoughtfully and with rather more composure than she had at the moment.

To top it off, her grumpy suspicion was running parallel with the nagging feeling that she was _missing_ something.

"I do not believe I have ever seen one of the Special Watch so frustrated at failing to find trouble," the Inspector commented mildly, and she managed to not snarl at the man only through a supreme act of will. As far as he was probably concerned, every empty lead was a good one. One less thing the town needed to worry about, and she could hardly blame him for that.

But it _itched_ at her, like a splinter too small to see. What was she missing? There had been no military engagements in the area for centuries, no natural disasters worth the mention, the only trade moving through town was building materials coming in and farming products leaving...

...wait.

"Inspector, that mine outside of town. When was it abandoned?" She wasn't sure which of them was more puzzled by the abrupt question, but she was certain she was on to something the instant she spoke it.

"I don't rightly know, miss. Long before I was born. I'd need to check the records."

They had both been checking the records practically down to the composition of the pages all night.

"Do you know why it was abandoned, though?"

"Not offhand, no."

"Inspector, I have the sneaking suspicion we will find neither in any of those books which we have been so brutally assaulting. I certainly don't remember seeing any mention of it, do you?"

"...no. It _could_ be a simple oversight."

He was right. But it felt wrong.

"It could. But I've seen no mention of what it produced, where that product went, who worked at it... Unless there was an entire volume devoted to the operations of that mine and we have somehow passed it over, I believe something is amiss."

"Hm. I shall leave a note for my counterpart to conduct a search, I think. It is getting rather late in the shift."

Saints preserve, she hadn't even noticed the time. She was lucky the sun rose so late at this time of year.

"Yes, a sound idea Inspector," and she scrubbed at an eye while feigning a yawn, as though only just now realizing how tired she was. Many in the Watch were aware of her situation, but even more were not, and she rather thought it best to try and keep up appearances given the subject of this particular investigation. "Thank you for your invaluable assistance tonight, sir. I shall see about calling upon your office when we are both more rested."


	24. Traditions

"Mister Fletcher."

"Ma'am?"

She'd never been able to sneak up on Simon, even when nobody else in the room seemed to notice her presence. It was refreshing, in a way.

"I've made some progress in my research, but I would like to run some things by you. You've lived here your whole life after all, and you might notice something which I've missed."

"Of course, ma'am."

The three of them had been given what had been prosaically referred to as "bunk space" at the local constabulary, though the reality of their lodgings was much more comfortable than the term would suggest. She and Watcher Evelyn shared a room, and Simon took another, each having been designed for up to four occupants. So in all they were rather comfortable, though hardly what could be considered vacation lodging. Once within Simon's quarters, she perched herself on one of the beds and gave him time to settle himself on the other, not to mention giving herself another few moments to chew over some of the ideas rattling about in her head.

"I think to start, why don't you tell me a bit about the character of Kent's Crossing as you have witnessed it? I realize that such is what you have grown used to over time, but having you describe it to me as an outsider would perhaps give us a few more points to consider."

"Hrmh... As you say, ma'am. Though really, it's quiet out this way. The most excitement I can recall at all was the one time Mister Ackermann had to chase a kobold out of his drying barn, poor thing was terrified." She couldn't help but smile at the nostalgic chuckle this memory tugged from the young man, "Not that I blamed it, that man has a bellow could stagger a plow-horse when he gets going. But, other than that..." He sunk into thought for a moment, combing his fingers through his beard and frowning at the floor, clearly having to rummage through the old, dusty boxes in the far corners of his mental attic.

"Can't really call much to mind, ma'am. I mean, we've got a few folk that keep the old ways, but I think the most that comes of it is we do things a little different come solstice, a few shrines here or there. Tradition more than anything, I think."

She'd read about this so called "Old Faith": less a religion and more of a druidic sort of arrangement, certainly not organized to the degree that the Sun Father's clergy were. A number of "Old Gods" were regarded as having sway over various aspects of the living world, and could be supplicated for assistance in those areas. Come to think of it, she'd seen a yellow runner along the mantelpiece at the local tavern, and hadn't even thought twice of it at the time, but that _was_ the color of the Hearthfire now that she considered it. And she'd be willing to bet she'd be able to find a hammer-mark stamped into at least a few bricks around the town for the Mason...

"Does your family keep the old ways at their farm, Mister Fletcher?"

"Well, some, I suppose. Ma never did let us go berry-picking without a yellow ribbon on the wrist, and Da had a bit of a Huntsman's shrine out near the wood line. Little things, never really thought about it. Like putting a penny in your shoe for luck."

More and more these days she had begun to wonder how many of the little superstitions of daily life had a deeper root than many considered.

"Thank you, Mister Fletcher, you've given me a few things to consider. Though," and he hesitated from where he had started to rise, "there is one other thing. I intend to test something today during my rest that may prove... well, hopefully not dangerous. But all the same, I would rather approach it with all my faculties about me." He really did look like a puzzled hound when he made that face, it was unfair. "It pains me to ask this Simon, but I feel the need to... avail myself of you."

He looked nearly as scandalized as she felt, though they both knew her request had nothing whatsoever to do with delicate acts. Though really, it might as well.

"I, erh... I see, ma'am."

"I do apologize for my forwardness, sir. And I am certain I could find another means of sustenance with proper diligence, but I feel a pressure for time weighing upon me."

But the young dear was already rolling up one of his sleeves, albeit with the queerest blend of determination and unease plain upon his face, "I understand, ma'am. And, truth be told, was part of what I volunteered at the start of all this." He sounded rather like he was trying to convince himself, not that she blamed him. The only other time her teeth had been in him had been rather more distressing than this. "Do you need to...? I mean, should I..."

Even if he finished those questions, she wasn't entirely sure she had the answers for them.

"Just relax as best you are able, sir. And if you feel a need, I give you leave to stop me however you see fit." Oh she wished he would not look so distressed at the thought. Those vampires that simply attacked their victims must have this much easier, without empathy for the fear and disquiet her condition evinced in others.

Instead of dwelling further on it, she settled on her knees by Simon's feet, took his arm gently in her hands, and bent her head.

The instant her fangs touched the soft skin at the inside of his elbow, she realized that she was somehow **_famished_**. It was as though she hadn't eaten for days! What on earth...

She could tell by the choked noise Simon made that she had dug her fangs in much more forcefully than she had intended, and tried desperately to rein herself back against the predator's howl she could feel clawing up from the caverns of her mind. She could not form the words to describe the flavor flooding over her tongue, the heat shuddering along her nerves; she could _feel_ her civilized mind fragmenting under the onslaught, though she managed to keep herself in place, managed to stamp down the urge to pounce upon the young man and **FEAST**...

Some indeterminate time later, she felt a sharp twist on her ear, pain blossoming, and pulled her fangs free with a hissing snarl towards the intruder... Oh.

"Simon. Light strike me I'm sorry, are you alright?"

He looked pale, though whether that was due to the loss of blood or... She tried not to consider the wetness she felt leaking over her chin. She must look a proper horror!

"Fine, ma'am. Could you snag the kit?"

There was a small box of medical supplies in this room as well as her own, she remembered it. Blood still singing in her throat, she blurred across the room and back, not even considering the speed at which she moved, and had a gauze pad pressed against the wound she'd left in poor Simon's arm so quickly he startled, jerking away slightly before steadying again, letting her apply the dressings while continuing her unhappy lament of apologies. Though he did cut her off after a bit, "Ma'am, truly, it's alright. You just gave me a bit of a turn, is all."

"Myself as well, sir. I'm... not really sure what happened there. I had thought myself properly fed, but apparently I was deeper into my reserves than was wise."

She tried not to think too hard about the Lady's delicate enameled cup tucked carefully into her things.

Once she had determined to her own satisfaction that Simon's wound was sufficiently tended, and her own face clean of betraying stains, she fled to her room without any illusions that it was anything but a retreat. It wasn't just the mystery of Kent's Crossing that she had to consider, as little as she liked it.


	25. Down in the Depths

Once again, she floated in the oil-thick, ink-dark sea.

She listened. Drifting, silent, every sense stretching out into the abyss.

It was different here than it was back home. Quieter, though that wasn't the whole of the change. The clicks and pings she had grown accustomed to were gone, replaced instead with a low, soft hiss like sand blowing against glass, and a deep grinding rumble like stone turning on stone. But she could hear other sounds that were familiar to her; that thin, high keening whistle that threaded along closer to the surface, just as clear as ever. And a deeper warble that, while still familiar, was more distant than was its usual.

Hardly surprising, all in all. And also not what she was hoping to learn, today during her rest.

She twisted, and dove.

She felt the currents change as she plunged deeper, ripples in the thick ocean. She again wondered if what she swam through was truly water, it didn't feel quite right. But then again, she could feel it rushing through her in ways that did not mesh with how she knew her waking body to work. Mystery upon mystery, in this dark place.

She heard a sharp sound in the dark, a crack like breaking stone, and she paused, frozen. That had been close, far closer than she was used to hearing things here, and her nerve threatened to fail her as she heard a secondary rattle. It was almost as though some debris were falling, but she had never encountered landforms here, that she could think of.

Gathering her courage, she pressed downwards once more.

She could feel the depth closing around her now, pressure building against and within her body. It was an unsettling feeling, like darkness closing in around the periphery of her vision.

Here, this should be deep enough.

Maybe.

You've come this far girl, just get on with it.

What if she was wrong?

What if she was right?

She called down into the darkness, a somewhat wavery note of what she hoped was inoffensive greeting.

Silence reigned for a time. Not just a lack of response, she realized after a moment; some of the background sounds she barely even noticed anymore had paused.

Terror gripped her, but she was committed now. Flight would only invite reprisal, some instinct told her.

She felt something immense move, farther yet beneath her. Heard a rustle like ancient canvas slithering down a set of stairs, a creak like a hinge so badly rusted it was like to snap before it bent...

A shuddering note like some great beast had growled down a church-organ's pipe.

She realized whatever she had woke was moving closer, she could feel its bulk in the water, hear the soft rush of its passage.

She held herself still, trying not to shake.

It paused, and she knew it was very close indeed. She could smell it, like stone dust and bone ash, a chalky taste in the back of her throat. Neither of them moved for a time.

It hissed, irritated but curious. She was in its territory, had disturbed its rest, she hardly blamed it for its mood.

She assayed an only slightly shaky croon in response. Greetings, and answering curiosity.

She rather thought she had puzzled the thing. It was a better thought than thinking it was simply contemplating whether to eat her or not.

She felt something rather like a hand close around her body, and she struggled in reflexive terror before realizing the grip was loose, gentle, and she let herself rest within it.

They were moving, herself being carried by... whatever this creature was.

She hoped she was right.


	26. Into the Woods

It had been a normal enough morning, if one discounted that moderately disturbing interaction with Ms. Eglantine. The Watcher had rousted him out of his bed with her usual gleefully horrible cheerfulness, he'd had some porridge and some tea, and once Ms. Eglantine was tucked away in her room he'd stepped out for what had become something of a routine since they'd arrived.

Namely, wandering the town and seeing what he could see.

They'd only been in Kent's Crossing for a few days, so there hadn't been much to catch his attention; old missus Weathersome's horse had been sulking one day and needed some encouragement to take her home, and the Brathermach twins had enlisted his help in fixing the dam upstream from their mill, but the town was largely just as quiet as it ever was. He was just as much of a local as the Watchers were not, and even the oddness of his recent history and heritage didn't seem to infringe on that much at all. And if he wasn't careful the widow McCrancy was going to try and adopt him again.

His thoughts wandered along with his feet, and once again he found them returning to the yellow ribbon stitched into the collar of his jacket, and what it signified. And from there, to just where he fit into things these days. He'd never been a particularly devout sort, but having been raised as he was had laid a fairly firm foundation for things. And, as far as he knew, werewolves did not fit within the purview of the Hearthfire. But by the same token, he was hardly some hound for the Hunter...

Wait, that was an odd scent.

He didn't even hesitate as his feet turned towards the outskirts of town, frowning faintly as he tried to pin down what his senses were telling him. He'd largely gotten used to the breadth of information that had become available after his... Incident? Transformation? Whatever, these days he could track by scent nearly as well as a hunting hound even in his man-shape, and sounds were clearer as well. And this was like nothing he'd ever caught on the wind out this way before.

It was something like a man, but not so warm.

It was something like woven cloth, but somehow smoother.

It was something like autumn, but not nearly so earthy.

And it was nothing like any of those things, somehow, as he follows it along the breeze into the trees. At this time of year the going was both easier and more difficult than in the warmer months; the undergrowth was thin, but the pines were as full as ever, and the snow often disguised ankle-twisting holes or toe-catching roots.

It wasn't long before he abandoned the shape of man and made his way more surely clad in fur.

There, this was the trail.

Footprints, but light, barely breaking the snow, and spaced wrong somehow. And that strange scent that made his nose itch and his belly shiver, like cold steel dripping honey. It wasn't heading towards the town, though.

More towards that old mine, really.

Maybe he should follow it, just to be sure.


	27. Dark, Deep, Silent, Slow

She awoke in darkness, which was to be expected.

The gently warm water that buoyed her limbs however, was not.

At first Ann wasn't even sure she was awake, or if she still floated in the dark sea, but upon opening her eyes it was to a purely mundane darkness, and her sleeping garments floated languidly around her as she frantically sought some indication of just what had happened.

She was in a cave of some sort, long-flooded and bereft of light for even longer by the look of things. Little blind fish whipped away from her movements in thoughtless panic, and the taste of dark-flourishing plants was thick in the water.

At least she needn't worry about drowning or catching a chill. Small favors.

Simon would be beside himself.

Pushing down impending hysterics as firmly as she could, she forced her attention back to her current situation and tried to make some sense of it. This had to be related somehow to the events in her dream, that ancient, vast presence drawing her away. She'd never even speculated that something like this was possible, and in truth it raised all manner of disquieting possibilities in regards to the nature of her dreams. As if there weren't enough of those already! And just where in creation was sh-

Something had moved, deeper in the darkness, stirring the muck from the bottom, and she drew herself behind an outcropping, suddenly and profoundly afraid.

Behind the normal sounds of a cave-lake, the drip of water, the creak of ancient stone, the skitter and hiss of tiny life, she could hear something else. It was like the sound of wind, but much deeper, a moan that made her very bones itch. Though her ability to see in the dark was as strong as ever, the spreading cloud of lake bottom muck was thwarting it quite soundly. Something was in there, she was sure of it, she could hear it, almost taste it, like...

Like stone dust and bone ash.

Her fingers tightened against water-smoothed stone as she saw a head emerge from the obscuring cloud. It may have once been human, it had much the same general shape. But she could see no eyes at all above the two verticals slits of nostrils, and no lips obscured the surgical lattice of fangs the creature sported. It knew where she was, she was sure of it, could see it draw the water of the lake in past parted jaws, taste it for scent, but it was slow. Languid. Watching it move was rather like observing a scrap of silk drifting in the current, graceful and liquid, the trailing ink of a mane following its motions.

Without warning, without preamble at all, the creature snapped forward like silent lightning, and without thought she lurched back... almost as quickly. Hands that were frail of structure but possessing an unearthly power closed on her upper arms, and she voiced a startled, terrified wail into the water, unable to restrain herself as she spied those horrific jaws opening.

Teeth like a carpenter's nails pricked delicately against the flesh of her neck, just above where it joined her shoulder, and she shuddered at the sensation.

She shrieked as she felt something else very like a mouth press against the skin thus trapped within those fangs, her legs kicking ineffectually as the creature effortlessly held her still.

The world swam.

It was rather like trying to face into a sharply opened sluice gate, every sense, every perception overwhelmed by sensations and information that she could not withstand. She felt knowledge tugged out of her, on a strange, visceral level, like blood leaking from a wound.

She heard a hissing whisper deep in her mind, below language, below thought, and she struggled with the way it urged her to be calm, assured her that she was in no danger. She was all too recently a part of the prey-herd, had not yet grown beyond its fears and instincts.

She wasn't sure how much of that was her own thoughts, and how much the other's.

She fled her senses for a time, to that place that was not the dark sea nor the waking world. She yet had that merely mortal defense against what was happening.

She shuddered back into awareness, her eyes clamped shut in fruitless denial, her body clenched into a tight, defensive wad, floating there in the underground lake.

The creature was still there, she knew, waiting patiently. It had all the time in the world, after all. Certainly enough time to wait for one terrified fledgling to collect herself.

Her pathetically grateful whimper at her continued safety was met by the softest of clicking laughter, a shockingly gentle sound threading past jaws that could have snuffed her existence faster than a man could blink.

This was not at all what she had planned when she had gone to bed.


	28. Deep Thought

The vampire no longer had a name, not really.

It had waited patiently for her panic to ease, watched without hurry as she unwound from her tangle of fear, and finally when she gathered her nerve sufficiently to not flinch from it, had begun to tell her things, in its own fashion.

Whatever language it may originally have spoken was probably long dead, and the fact that this was not a consideration was equal parts a relief and a shock. It was rather like the songs in the dark sea, which made a certain amount of sense when she considered it; the sounds the vampire made carried some degree of meaning with them which her new instincts could understand. It was hardly a language of complex concepts or eloquent poetry, but it served well enough one supposed.

Neither of them were particularly sure how long the creature had been lairing here, owing in large part to the fact that it had not left this particular underground lake in what was probably decades, if not a century. It knew of Kent's Crossing nearby, though only has a settlement, without details or any true conception of the town's scale. But the history of the creature was not the main focus of their strange, echoing "discussion."

It spoke of her dreams, of the dark sea, and of things that she had only theorized about at best.

As best she could understand, the sea both was and was not a place. It was what remained of what vampires originally were, back in the darkness of time; their original hunting grounds kept alive somewhere deep in their subconscious. Most never explored it, were barely conscious of it. Certainly none as young as she, which was the primary reason this ancient creature had humored her curiosity. And it had confirmed one of her fears: the fledgling she had heard in her dreams, whose voice had been snuffed out, had been too close and too loud for her host's tolerance.

Small comfort, this ability to drag a sleeper from the sea seemed to be something unique to this creature in particular, or at least only ones of similar antiquity.

It seemed amused when she wondered how she would get home again. Clearly that was going to be her problem.

But then the discussion snapped to a halt as light glimmered upon the surface of the lake, and she was not certain which of them was more startled by it.


	29. Tangled Boughs

Lurking beneath the surface of the lake told her little. It was rather obvious that someone was in the portion of this cave that was not submerged, but moving to an angle where she might see them would leave herself just as exposed to observation, she felt. She could hear a voice, but only in the way one could tell someone was talking in the next room, little more than cadence and a bit of inflection with no true sense of the words involved.

Her "host" seemed even less interested in exposing themselves to this ersatz visitor than she, and was doing a truly startling imitation of a patch of shadow on the cavern wall. Really, if she hadn't seen it move there, she was fairly certain she'd never realize the deception.

But the light wasn't leaving, despite the pair of them waiting patiently for it to do so. A rumbling sputter in the water told her that this cave was far too deep for a merely accidental intrusion, somewhat deepening the unease coiled within Ann's belly. The fact that she was hiding next to a vampire easily centuries her senior didn't seem nearly so worrying, a fact that would strike her as hilarious if she weren't so out of sorts already.

And she did believe the voice was getting perturbed, by what she could read of its tone. Hissing a question towards the elder earned a resigned click of agreement: it did rather seem as though whoever this was knew they were here, at least in a general sense.

A scrape of talons on stone and fang against fang had every hair on her body standing on end, her host very firmly of the opinion that this needed to be dealt with. It was not a diplomatic sound.

They drifted upwards.

Nearing the surface, she began to make out a figure, clearly humanoid of form, though details were obscured by ripples in the water's surface. The light made her eyes itch, not simply from the transition from darkness, something about it was... strange, in ways she wasn't sure she could describe.

As she breached the surface, the voice that had clearly been shouting for a while resolved itself into words.

"So finally the beast reveals itself! Such cowardice had me wondering if I should need a camp!" Even beyond the snide mockery of the words themselves, their speaker's tone had her lips peeling back from her teeth irritably; this was clearly someone that believed patience was something for other people to concern themselves with. But more than that, there was a quality to the man's voice that had her fingers crooking into claws beneath the surface of the water, her teeth gritting. And getting a clear look at him, she thought she began to understand some things.

At first glance, one might think him just some dandy or a noble's spoiled son, standing tall and fair-haired and such, clad richly in scarlet and sable. But a closer look revealed that his garments were some sort of ornate armor formed from leaves the crimson of deep autumn and branches the black of deepest winter. His hair was not simply fair but golden, and the light that had first caught their attention shone from several small wisps that lurked around the periphery of the cavern. She rather suspected his ears to be pointed and eyes slotted, though she was not close enough to determine such things at the moment. She immediately loathed him and hungered for his touch, primal instinct twisting inside her, human urges clashing with vampiric.

Though his kind would snarl at hearing such a thing, they were among the highest of the Lesser Fae, and indeed were what that category took its name from: the Faeries, Fair Folk, and similar such appellations. Not Elves, though. Those were different.

And this particular Noble was sneering down at her along the line of his drawn sword, a look which she returned in rather poor humor herself, but upon forcing some air into her lungs she answered him with what she thought was admirable courtesy, "Sir, I know not what you think to find here, but I am most certain that you are mistaken."

About to resume his tirade, though apparently somewhat startled by her response, he was interrupted in a manner singularly rude: the elder vampire blurred out of the shadows and came within a hair's shadow of simply biting his head clean off. Merely human perceptions would not have been able to see the motion, it was so swift, but the Noble faded to the side just as quickly, as poised as a dancer or fencer.

Her talons left tracks in the stone as she lunged from the water, and she could physically, viscerally feel something deep inside herself twist from normal to HUNT.

The Noble's gleaming silver blade whispered through the space the elder's throat had occupied half a heartbeat before, and her teeth clashed together where his spine should have been, but he was abruptly just outside her reach, and she felt the ache of his sword's edge glide delicately across her face, only kept from removing the top of her head entirely by her own lightning retreat.

Water that had been flung into the air by her lunge began its downward arc.

She struggled to keep cognizant of the fight, to understand what was happening, but everything was progressing so quickly her mortal mind could not keep up, and raw vampiric instinct was pressing higher and higher in her mind, a tide of EVADE and STRIKE and KILL.

But she was the youngster here, inexperienced, and she misstepped. Less than a panicked breath later, gleaming silver sang between her ribs, its horrible, hateful cold radiating through her like a spider's web.

**[CEASE]**

Time wrinkled. It was a singularly bizarre sensation.

She found herself sprawled on the cavern's floor, shivering so hard her teeth rattled. She could not see her elder host anywhere, though that hardly surprised her.

The Noble huddled against the far wall, yammering in a language she did not know, in tones that she took to be pleading.

The Lady stood before him, and She was Angry. Once again, Ann could not describe what she saw, but it was not simply the cold of her wound that had her shaking.

Vines clutched stone walls that had been previously bare, brambles reaching from the roof like a stooping hawk's talons, and there was no light, merely the darkness refusing to intrude upon the Lady in Her Fury. She had not given it leave to do so.

**[BEGONE]**

The Noble was no longer within the cavern.

Ann retched, delicate, hair-fine roots bursting free of her throat to slither away across the stone.

The Lady was holding her, once more clad in mortal shape and mortal word, gentle hands supporting Ann's body like sun-warmed tree boughs. The shivers eased. A crown of antlers dipped low.

The cavern was once again dark and silent and empty.

A violently perturbed hiss made the surface of the lake ripple, demanding to know just what that was all about, and Ann broke down in a fit of unrepentantly hysterical giggles, overwhelmed by the sheer strangeness of it all.


	30. In Pursuit

The scent trail was not particularly difficult to follow, though it meandered across what seemed half the district at times. This way, that way, through woods, ravines, even the outskirts of a farmer's field or two. And hard as he tried, he simply could not identify it! It was infuriating!

It was fascinating.

Wait, here's a cave it'd gone into. Curious, he could have sworn he knew all the caves in this area, but this one was unfamiliar. Too small to interest many of the larger forest den-makers, but also not showing any signs of fox or rabbit as one might expect.

Strange.

And there was another scent here, overlain by the one he was tracking, so faint and thin with age he could barely identify it. And it made as little sense as the other, a dusty scent like old stone and ash, resting like cobwebs on the back of his tongue.

He decided that he didn't particularly care for either scent, really. This boded ill, especially given Miss Eglantine's inquiries in the area. Perhaps it was even related...

Hm, this passage was almost too small for him. Could he... yes, he could turn around, with some undignified squirming which he was glad no one was around to witness. Onwards, then.

...drat, this bit was certainly much too narrow for him to continue. What now?

...wait, that was a familiar scent...


	31. Falling Action

Ann regarded the long-dry ink upon her pen with a mixture of exasperation and sympathy. She felt much the same, in some ways.

For the better part of an hour, she had been grappling with the necessity of composing a report for her superiors, and she was certainly not ahead on points in this contest.

With a sigh, she set down her pen and leaned back in her chair, attempting to order her thoughts in some approximation of usefulness.

The Kent's Crossing precinct office murmured quietly around her with its usual dead-hour activities: one of the two patrolmen assigned this watch fetching himself a fresh mug of coffee, the rustle of paper from another room as the night-sergeant read reports, and little else. Simon, bless him, was asleep on a nearby chair in a posture that would surely have his neck locked solid come the morning. The poor dear deserved better for the same reason he had refused to leave her side after seeing her safely back to town after he had found her in that cave.

She rather fancied some of her difficulties with composing her report were of a more manufactured sort than simple fatigue. Even now, she was having difficulty remembering events that should by all rights be indelibly etched into her memories.

Part of her was somewhat grateful for the blurring, in all honesty.

Perhaps she needed some air. Not in the classic sense, though. No, don't start giggling again, you'll wake Simon and he'll fuss.

On the roof of the precinct, she regarded the sky with a sort of shaken blankness. She felt rather like a cloth that had been snapped vigorously to get the dust out of it, with some things seeming clearer than ever before, but others jolted horribly out of their proper place.

At least insomnia wouldn't be a problem for her. Though that was cold comfort, given what waited for her in sleep.

She was babbling to herself and she knew it, but... well, what else could she be expected to do?

Write that report, for one.

Another sigh towards the uncaring stars, and she turned to go back inside. At least the Special Watch was less likely to immediately disregard statements including "and then an Elder Fae appeared from nowhere and saved me from a Sidhe noble."

Stop giggling, girl.

Her suspicions about the nature of her difficulties in writing the report were somewhat borne out as she set to work again; she crossed out nearly every fourth word as they came out wrong, and her ink had a perturbing tendency of trying to convince her it was changing colors when she wasn't looking directly at it. But she persisted, out of pure stubbornness if naught else, and was able to finally place the Clearance Required seal upon the paper. It looked rather like a child with poor penmanship had written it, but it was done.

Or done enough, one supposed.

Enough of this, she should put herself to bed, even if dawn was nearly an hour off. She rather thought she'd need the time to convince herself to trust her bed again...


	32. Velvet Sleep

She drifted shallow. There was still no light, no sense of just how far above her the surface was, but the pressure of the deeps was less.

Was it fear that drew her upwards? Wariness of what she now knew to lurk beneath? Probably. Almost certainly. Fear was a survival instinct, after all.

The dark sea felt/tasted murky today, as though the silt of the bottom had been well-stirred. Repercussions of the previous night's events? A natural phenomena? Difficult to say. And asking difficult questions was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place.

It seemed to be her nature, really.

She could taste the high, thready keening that had always wound through the upper reaches of the dark sea, clearer now than ever before. An uneasy sound, though not an entirely unpleasant one. It made her talons and teeth itch and urged her to prowl, to seek. She resisted, drifting, silent.

The sea was still, without currents. That was new. It worried her, made her feel somewhat deafened, without scents and tastes from further away brought to her. She strained her senses out into the murk, listening ferociously for any signs of activity.

Silence. Silence without echo or ripple. This was an enforced state, not a natural one, she was certain of it. Almost certainly the doing of her elder acquaintance; she could not taste the leaf-mould that had always heralded the Lady's presence (how terrifying to think she was familiar enough with that to identify it), nor the prickly itch down her spine that the Sidhe had engendered in the waking world.

This degree of thinking, analysis, felt strange here. As though she were having to squint through a bright light, trying to identify the ingredients of a meal by scent alone. The sea sang to deeper instincts, darker appetites. The higher mind was more a thing of the lighted world.

Perhaps she could use this.

Did she dare?

She stopped thinking. Her jaw snapped shut, a sharp click echoing out into the darkness.

Silence.

A susurrus of information began to filter through her bones.

She twisted, flowed through the dark towards a whisper that she had yet to identify. Felt it brush against her lower jaw, like fine, soft fur floating in the water.

She twined carefully around it, clung to it, felt warmth leaking against her from that contact, a soft pulse against her skin.

Drifted in silence, stillness.

Calm.

She rested, for perhaps the first time since she had come to the dark sea.


End file.
